Hallway to Nowhere

Category: poetry

  • Mother Hole (Poem)

    she put me in the car

    drove headlong into the oncoming lane

    that was the first time

    she picked up a skillet full of hot oil

    flung it at my head

    that was the second time

    she took me to a strange city

    abandoned me on the street

    that was the third time

    I never knew still do not know

    what she thought to do by any of these things

    the first destroyed a sense of security

    but heightened awareness

    the second killed a hope for love

    but taught trust in reflexes

    the third wiped out desire for a relationship

    but rewarded the tendency to be prepared

    I cannot say I lost her-how do you lose one you never had-

    though for many years I grieved over the empty space

    where she might have been

    this has become only sadness

    over what she could have had

    over the damage she must have suffered

    over the inability to build a bridge she would accept

    but also gratitude for the strengths I have

    my heart once so hurt I did not think it would ever heal

    now opens wide enough to invite the world

    to rest within an infinite expanse

  • Funereal Years of the Anthropocene (Poem)

    flowers have died despite care

    we too shrivel in the dry hot wind

    we wait upon rain in the evening

    placing hope in the massing gray clouds

    neighbors murmur to each other

    tonight I have heard it will come

    one places an umbrella beside the door

    another his rain boots

    and one carefully checks her water gauge

    remember how recently it poured everyday

    vegetables rotted before they could be picked

    ants invaded homes to escape the wet

    streets became fast-flowing creeks

    drought, flooding, we move through it all

    with eyes closed and fingers crossed

    believing that superstitious behaviour will save us

    instead we are being delivered

    to the consequences of turning away

    when shall we mourn

    how shall we grieve

  • Prayer Beads (Poem)

    long ago I would listen to bullfrogs

    now in the evening I watch fireflies

    these two acts feel connected

    spacer beads on the same mala

    the croak and flicker measuring a length

    thus I count my moments lived

    thus they in turn count me

    a silent mantra humming

    this and this and this and this

  • No Becomes The Answer (Poem)

    outside the heat tries to draw me back

    with air that shimmers visibly above the street

    asking me to recall other roads in other times

    I’ve been down them so much

    that I still pick gravel from my shoes

    today I turn away and close the door

    then go into the cool shadowed room

    any memories that linger beyond

    can burn away in the sun

  • Anyone (Poem)

    as a child, I knew that I was ordinary

    I am ordinary today

    nothing I did was new, nor is it now

    anyone could do it, anyone can

    it being whatever act might be called out as special

    my circumstances were not ordinary

    I had little control over those

    I did what anyone would

    Made the best of where, when, and how

    still I do this but now with a bit of grace and ease

    not hard to learn for anyone

  • Why I Am Silent (Poem)

    was I ever able to talk?

    on that day when the cloud covered the sun

    then split open for just one second

    so that light became a focused dazzle

    I remember speaking

    not important nor memorable nor heard

    something dropped from my mouth

    a foreign coin falling from the pocket of a careless guest

    I am a visitor here

    have spent my time in useless loiter

    pacing the platform of trains that do not exist

    when the next one arrives, I shall board

    settle into the window seat until I am home

    pay the conductor with another word

    another word another word

    placed with attentive care into his waiting hand

  • As Honey Upon Awakening (Poem)

    long discursive fever dreams

    drift without effort but still somehow

    heavy with the heated weight of story

    not mine always

    slow building intense profound

    teachings light and delicate as spun fairy sugar

    reach too tightly and they dissolve

    relax and they linger

    sweetness dropping as a seed within

  • Father’s Day (Poem)

    I never knew my father as anything other,

    though from stories I heard he lived a life

    rich with travel, music, art, and other dangerous things.

    for years I carried with me my sole testimony to this,

    a charcoal self-portrait he had drawn of himself as a young man,

    the paper creased and worn from years of being folded

    before it passed into my hands, and I chose to keep it close

    in the left back pocket of my jeans just like he had done.

    one day it simply fell apart, and I went to a bridge

    and scattered the tattered remnants over the water.

    I doubt he ever traveled in this area but think he would have approved.

  • Summer Muchness Fatigue (Poem)

    as the heat rises, as the dome settles into place

    and even the mountains lose their cooling air,

    where now do I go?

    before I could slip easily away into a boat

    and take myself into the shaded silence of bayous overhung with cypress.

    the local alternative is a trail which offers some canopied foliage

    but also people and dogs and bikes and noise.

    summer has become overwhelming at times,

    too bright with sun; too loud with all sorts of clatter;

    too noisome with industrial odors.

    in other worlds I find the hush and stillness,

    so that is where I’ll be.

  • The Perfect Joy of Summer Squash (Poem)

    how can I not remember you? how can I forget?

    at the market you would gently pick through summer squash

    to find the ones that were just the color of the sun

    and hold a blueberry to the sky before tasting it for sweetness,

    then at home, you would spread all we bought in riotous display

    and circle it talking aloud to yourself of the delicious possibilites.

    sometimes when we cooked, you’d dance around the kitchen

    and grab my hands to pull me in until I joined you.

    you said I was too serious always and your job was to make me laugh.

    oh love, long ago and too soon gone love, you did that so well

    that still I remember your lessons and the beauty of your smile.

    did I hold you enough? no, never enough, yet I tried to the very end.

    though you slipped away to wander the unknown fields of death,

    you remain with me in unexpected ways, forever my abiding joy;

    forever my happiness; forever my heart.