Over Time
Our bodies begin to obey our pleasures
in middle age. Our laps open to receive our loves.
Our eyes dissolve the hard news into soft grey fur.
Even in sleep we weave up dreams
from the colored rags of our days
to soften our steps.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
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.
The Forest
The Forest
The forest sleeps, wake her up.
The forest sleeps and her children are afraid.
The forest sleeps too long.
The honey is scarce and hard in the hive.
The animals fly through the nets.
The leaves hiss like panthers
as we walk loudly to the village,
clapping and singing songs of no meat.
The forest is sleeping like death.
If we wake her she will feed us.
If we wake her the babies will grow fat.
If we wake her the leaves will cool the huts.
But she grows thin in sleep
and we grow white with dust.
We are her children under the moon.
We slap the bottoms of each other's feet
to keep up our singing.
Before she is more dead.
Before she is completely dead forever.
Visitation
Visitation
Returning to the house he was so recently asked to leavehe waits in the kitchen,
a cup of gas station coffee in his gloved left hand.
She comes down to tell him they won't need him today;
school's called off and she's taking off work.
She offers to refill his cup.
If he has time.
While she runs water
he watches the down
behind her right knee,
the place she always missed while shaving.
Hard already, he unsheathes his hads,
slides them under his old tee shirt,
turns her,
tries to come home.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Love Among Survivors
Love Among Survivors
for AA groups everywhere
Charmed by real love
I commit magic in these streets.
Junkies propose marriage,
rapists place jackets over puddles,
rats sweep my floor.
Sent forth with real love's
awkward text
I wave my hand and
buses arrive on time,
rottweilers belly-up,
roaches slit their own throats.
Grinning,
arms gift-full,
I step into our story.
Back to Civilization
Back to Civilization
for Faith
Sweeping up butterflies
Checking out bloodied eyes
Cleaning the window panes
Kicking off shoes
Women and little boys
Stepping on cats and toys
Building a home again
Burning the blues
Sunday, March 4, 2012
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