Sunday, July 29, 2012

grandma grace

she would fret
in rivulets
but her laugh
washed in like an ocean wave

it surprised her too
you could tell, she would say "oh!"
just like a child ankle deep in the sea

it was best to tell her most things
after they were done
so she wouldn't have to worry over you

i went to see her
in hospice
only once

her mind was skipping through time
i was her brother, perhaps a neighbor
someone who might know where her father was
and what song he was singing
and whether they had taken the picture yet

i was glad anyway
to be able to say things to her
i guess i was waiting to say
until we wouldn't have to worry over it

i could see she was afraid to leave this world

i hope they let her
surprise grandpa john and uncle phil
up there talking blueprints and carpentry
and get into a little mischief after meeting

Thursday, July 26, 2012

here's what i'm going to do

here's what i'm going to do
i'm going to get real serious about life now

the thing is i'm just getting into these moral lessons
all the time they really hit me
like the things that make you happiest
make you saddest too

you see what i mean it's
all the time you tell me you had a really good apple
at lunch and i'm thinking how the best things
are this simple and every moment of this day
i'm going to eat right to the core

it's all about how to live
and if i drive past
pile ups i'll just break down
right there, and the guy smoking
thumb out and duffels dirty
there he is in the flesh, you hardly ever see
it anymore, and who knows, he could hitch a ride
with me and be in my car next, smelling like booze
and body, and telling me where he's trying to get to
but the real shifty thing is
i'd take him with me but the radio right now
is a man talking about his fight with cancer
and the sky is full of huge tumor clouds
i'm telling you this on-ramp is where i say my goodbyes
i'm sorry, i can't and
the evening is filling with crickets 
won't be still a minute

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

real enough

this was a real conversation
so there's not much point in reading it

it was something
i had in my early twenties
at a bus stop
it was with an old woman

to me, she was probably homeless
but the point is
you don't know this only by smell
and also as i said this was a real conversation
more like a sort of epigraph
in which she said everything was coming to an end
not with spittle, but spleen
or, really, with nothing at all
just the words off her back and i was
about 22 or so and i said sure maybe
it should

someone didn't
just come up with this
she had an actual scarf of brown
or green that was tied over
grey locks of wire
no one was sitting in the basement
at a keyboard making her tongue
rise against the roof of her mouth
and thwip behind two teeth
to elucidate that no everything shouldn't
some things shouldn't even though
even though they might

only a few things
good marriages
children being your own your only
couldn't finish that
but most stuff let go
at just the right time

it was right over there on 38th street
i was going to go back up
to school and see about you
i was happy too it's not like i was going to throw
myself in a river its not like
i was going to try to drink you whole
or wrap us up in rope
the kind of stuff people write in epistolary novellas
this was real, there was a little
grey down on her upper lip crossed by three lines
that allowed her mouth to be pursed whether it was
or not

i was only about 21 or 22 and i thought
it was beautiful and literary and thematic
just to go on living
for a few things you can't stand
to end but what i'm really saying is it was 
real enough, i can see that now

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Song for my daughters

Dance with me

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

mowing over the former flower bed

really gave me
a complex kind
of feeling. sort of
a victory like
take that ya darn weeds
but also an acute sense
of failure


my six horse
power briggs and
stratton mower
whirred its blunt
wings through green
hot mash


the handle hum
made my fingers
feel like silk
when i stopped to dump
the clippings

maybe the mowing sound put that boy
down the block
to sleep 
who likes
to keep shouting to his parents
questions
you can hear through
an open window

just kidding,
that's my kid

when i hear mowing i always
think of baseball
particularly the laziness of a hot
summer game

what he's going to think of
i have no idea
i hope it's something nice
like flower beds

Monday, July 09, 2012

to the person who put the liquor bottle in our recycling bin

what am i
supposed to think?
i might feel
outraged
like the neighbors
passing with their morning dogs
will see this glass
bottle
and think
"well, those folks sure like it
cheap and hard"

or i could commend
the act of conscience for our good earth
that must have been the
terminus
of a late night walk
swigging a skinny
brown
paper bag

it's even a bit heroic
in that condition
as you slur out
"can't
let this
go
to the land
the the
landfill"

but let's
be real about
these simple acts
of convenience

Sunday, July 08, 2012

Fairly sappy song

Lilly Flower

Thursday, July 05, 2012

conversation part III

when words
exit
there is a ripple

a little prayer on
it's long and graceful neck

or this tirade
whispered in the bathroom
ruffling every feather
of my breast

an earnest
flock of words
trying to migrate across 
the Himalayas
carefully watches where
the wind
blows

and how are the eagles
always above you?

they aren't trying
to go anywhere but higher
they just find
the right place and hold
their wings out
like idiots

when words return
to us
they come down gently
as a finch
or crash like waterfowl


or hold out
as long as they can
wingtip to wave
and stagger in on the beach
awkward as albatross  

a jogging death

i believe that
death is like this:
you open your door
to the warm night
and you begin to run

your face
goes slack eyes
half close
your mind bobs nearby
chattery voice 
indistinguishable
from the humid air

your feet
carry your body
like a boat
like a parade float
that fits the whole universe on it
and every living thing
is waving nicely to you

Wednesday, July 04, 2012

on conversation, part II

the lake
ripples at the frantic paddle
of feet
while the water slowly
releases

swans to the sky

in a moment
the lake is covered
in imperturbable blue cloth
the sky shed


for this evening
that is ripped by one long bank of cloud
into two parts

so simple
their emptiness is
a surpassing beauty

can something have flown 
from there?

on conversation, part I

the words
were spoken
like swans rising
from a north canadian lake

leaving ripples
and furrows
with their feet
until airborne

as they rose
their necks
arched
and stretched

to fly, i think,
is to swim
with great arms
into very thin water