she begged me to read
the private words
(what would she discover?
what did she want to know?)
i had to remind her
of her age, her attitude,
her focus on the future
(even if it’s just tomorrow)
she’ll forget by then.
and the words? they’ll
still be there, waiting for
the day when someone
other than me is
ready to pry open the book
and discover the
window to my soul.
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 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.
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.
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.
at his stall he holds
eggs picked from the coop this morning
(various sizes and colors)
piles of phallic squashes
in shades of yellow and green,
peppers as shiny as red wagons,
new potatoes ripe and ready,
green onions that might wilt
by midday (we’d better eat them),
tomatoes ready for today’s sauce,
tomatoes ready for next week’s canning,
glistening green chiles to spice up our quiche,
the makings of a meal
that will bring us all seven together
for $17, a downhill ride home,
and a shiny new conscience.
For Olivia
walking together
hands apart
we could climb
slope after slope
it could be pretty
with shrubs
and wildflowers
and young scrub oaks
it might sprinkle,
sparkling your eyes
just a tad with
twisted rays of light
you could lead the way
and i could follow
(something new for me)
and give in to your desires.
but
it wouldn’t build
our hamstrings
with the ever-harder
mountain climbs
it wouldn’t bring
us (no matter how many slopes)
to the glorious
tops of fourteeners
it would never be the same
as tall pines giving way
to snow-covered peaks,
to insurmountable beauty
it would be you and i
new and rounded
(soft and wary)
not as hard-won as the years
(the poking-into-sky
sharp-at-our-cores
daring-to-be-ourselves
mountain peaks)
i have given to her,
my mountain,
my home,
my love.
with this pedal I thee wed
a life that’s mine (inside my head)
to remember all that is momentous
and forget everything circuitous
with this pedal I will fly
into my life, by and by
taking with me all that’s past
leaving behind what I’ve surpassed
with this pedal I am me
more than elsewhere I could be
to speak my mind and ache my soul
to take the parts and make them whole
with this pedal I thee wed
a life that’s mine (inside my head)
to remember all that brought me here
to forget all that should disappear.
for a thousand miles
we see the reach of
the Mighty Mississippi,
the river we bought
for pennies on the dollar,
the river of dreams
(sometimes nightmares),
the river that feeds us all
and doesn’t feed us.
after cornfield gives way
to soybean field and
amber waves of wheat,
all i can think about are the bison
who ate and fertilized
this prairie, feeding
ten thousand generations
and yet
we destroy it
with unnecessary crops
feeding cattle that could
(and would) do the same as the bison.
as night gives in to day
we cross the border
and see cows in pasture
(home at last)
a truck with a Kentucky plate
(home at last)
and hope that one day
we will release
the native grasses
and allow the prairie
to be home at last.
a flash and a dash
is all i really remember
(silvery as sun-spotted fish
darting in and out of rocks)
now the swim startles my senses
freezes my (once warm) skin
but i am like those fish and i
will shine, shine, shine under the sun.
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