amidst the chaos
of this day
(or any other)
i have missed a milestone
that even with pictures
i will never
be able to replicate
it is not the first
(nor the last).
it tears at
my heartstrings,
a reminder of
all i have lost
with everything
i have won.
i wait for the day
when what i’ve won
will fill the void
(the interminable
guilt-ridden void)
that encompasses
all i have lost.
i knew what i had
held within my hands
(held right before my eyes)
in perfect amazement
how perfectly you
mesmerized them (me)
now i stand to the side
awkward and disappointed
holding back tears
as i ache for what we had together
(what your light shined
upon me, upon them)
she will never know this.
only you and i could
possibly understand
the perfect harmony
held within our hands
that they (we) will
have to live without.
i will swallow my remorse
as i (accidentally) open and close
this door, shutting out (shutting in)
the last of what was left.
you smile politely, in your moment
of meeting them for the first time
(it is no longer our moment)
and as i enter the chaotic world
i have chosen, i can only guess
where my stupidity will lead me next.
like a hurricane where
it doesn’t belong, stress
has swooped in from a
once-peaceful tropical locale,
tearing down trees,
ripping off roofs,
destroying in its path
every last bit of calm
that the summer once
peacefully offered me.
i stare into the beast’s eye,
reminding me that the middle
is only a moment of waiting,
that the end will whip around
and leave remnants of the
past in pieces behind its
horrendously angry tail,
pieces I will pick up, put back
together, and swallow in peace.
As stated matter-of-factly
hundreds of times, this tower
(brick-not-steel, pointed
and dominant) was the tallest
building in Denver when
at age twenty-one, like the
pioneers two generations back
(two generations back from me)
my great-aunt Frances walked
through downtown (1937)
We enter it for the first time in
my life tonight, year twelve of
our young marriage. “Finally,”
you say, “something you haven’t
already done,” opening the door for me.
Did she see it? Painted crown molding
on the ceilings, intricately laid
white marble (smooth and cool
against the skin on a summer night),
architecture from a bygone era.
Would she care about the cabaret
burlesque show that emanates from
the basement stairwell? Or did she know,
with her domineering, independent shoes
that carried her here from Kansas,
that, just like the steel-concrete-glass
skyscrapers that have tried to trump this,
it still stands in a changing world,
here we stand in a changing world,
its strength (our strength) unwilling to give up
its place in the heart of the city (of love).
the music has ended
(crickets are singing now)
and there are no cicadas here
their tiny legs call out to us
in the deep of night and the
light shining on my belly?
it is like that night under the moon
white sand encircling our toes
where i walked to the water alone
you remember. how anger and
longing threw us apart, how i
imagined a trip there alone, with them.
in a perfect circle, the moon
led me along the beach, wind
whispering the truth to me
we didn’t have electricity
a bathroom or a camper,
nothing but haste and desire
i think of this now only because
of the songs you have chosen
now ended, given in to insects
i will carry them (the music of
our lives) to sleep along with my moon.
i would be lost without it.
along this suburban street,
my narrow tires sideswipe a kingfisher
hopping along the gutter
(an algae-encrusted pond
is just over the bank)
i think of you burning forests
in Kentucky, telling your baby
the names of all the songbirds,
pointing out the indigenous plants
(plucking the non-native species)
he doesn’t seem to fit in here,
pecking his way along with his
tall, built-for-fishing legs and the
beak made for water. i don’t
run him over, but i wonder
i wonder what you would
say of his presence in this arid
climate, at the same time priding
myself that i remember his species.
native? non-native? i couldn’t say.
but i think he will find his way.
unusually demure
her face reddens
tips down (shame?
fear? abandonment?)
avoids the question.
her eyes zip from
side to side quick
as a predatory cat
i can’t tell if she’s
nodded or shaken
the truth from her head.
i will know soon
but just as our own
questions burn between us
soon is not now
now is not tomorrow
and tomorrow (i) fear
is a little too late.
you sit like a tiny blue frog
hidden in the twilight on
a lily pad surrounded by black water
almost impossible to see
but i know you’re there
hiding out, zippy tongue ready
in a moment, you will snatch
away my summer, swallowing
my girls as if they were annoying flies.
i can’t disappear from this encounter,
but only work my way closer, ready
to pry you open, releasing them, in spring.
with wind i push it to the side
take the pedals, ride and ride
it may not wash away like beer
but brings on a healthier cheer.
wish i could erase the pain
of every misaligned refrain
but by midday my bike will be
put back together in harmony.
we’ll take their little hands in ours
forgetting yesterday’s sad showers
he and i will work the wind
till at our backs it will ascend.
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