Worry

Worry

I knew it worried him,

no matter what he said.

I knew he thought I'd go back to her.

Even in the beginning,

when things were good,

he'd ask questions.

Later on,

when things got bad,

I'd cut off my fingernails

and come home late.

Why

Why

Futures or numbers,

angles or dollars,

signs or stars -

you think these have brought me to you,

but no.

The boy you were -

alone, on foot,

carrying your mother's groceries each week

in your boy's hands -

has persuaded me.



Wild Strawberries

Wild Strawberries

The strawberries we planted years ago

have decamped to live in the lawn.

They keep to themselves

except in spring

when they pop with the yellow flowers
I mow down.

Still they manage to bear

a bright fruit,

perfect, though inedible.

Weaving

Weaving

You have to be ready to touch it all,

to slide your fingers between the warps,

pushing down the weft.

You must kneel, squat, reach

as it demands.

Leave wool alone on the loom

for three days

and it draws evil spirits.

You must love it every moment,

even when you are sick to death of it.

And touch it, even in the places that cut.

Winter Sun

Winter Sun

1.

We prayed for this, didn't we?

Days and days and days

of darkness dampened us

and we lay limp,

our blackwatch plaid flannel

covered with dog hair.

Praying.

2.

Thank God

I didn't have to tell him how long I've been sober

because I know what he'd think: Why

aren't you better? Why

aren't you well?

3.

The sun. Finally outside

we pick paper

from the crotch of a fallen branch,

shovel old news

burst from its plastic tubing,

and consider how little's left

of fresh or green.

When I Was a Boy

When I Was a Boy

Back when I was the boy of the family

I used to jiggle step in my father's shadow all Saturday.

At the barber shop there were Hulk comics

and pictures of ladies in their nighties

and I learned to say JEEEEEESUS Christ

and not make it sound like a prayer, either.

We'd go to the bar to sit in cool darkness

and drink 7-Up right out of the bottle.

I learned jokes and shaking hands with the guys.

Or we'd go fishing - catching pumpkin seeds or clumps of grass.

I had to be quiet then, but it was serious quiet and easy,

not like mom's nap quiet when I always needed stuff.

And we'd sit together against a tree.

Blue eyes and brown eyes didn't make us different then

like breasts did later.

Oh, we were a club, just us two.

At night he washed my little hands in his big ones

and dried them hard,

even between my fingers.

The Workers in the Vineyard

The Workers in the Vineyard

Take what is yours and go. What if I wish to give this last one the same as you?

Matthew 20:14

I waited for my cousin.

The others were still coming in, shirts off,

dirt, juice, and sweat painting their faces.

I was tired.

Not from working,

shit, I'd only started an hour ago,

but from the heat, from sleeping all morning,

from my life.

Emmett, always trying harder,

had gotten on the wagon at the crack of dawn.

I could see him coming in, pulled back

by the skinny horse, both of them swatting flies.

Around me men started to grumble,

to fight.

Everybody was getting the same money.

Emmett and I were getting the same money.

Suddenly I couldn't stop laughing.

Ahead, in the green shade of the fig tree

that crackpot stood,

handing out the pay, saying

I love you.