Promise

 

Now, the kids on the block. More reliable than the crocus. As they appear, glove in hand between the houses, where the grass lies dormant and brown sticked hydrangea become bases. The promise of the season bright in their eyes and in the gardener neighbor quietly taking stock of her bed.

Now, the kids on the block. They are reliable, I know. In the last light of a late August day, they run for a pass between the houses. The apple tree, sighing heavily with fruit becomes a goal post. Promises made. Some broken. The gardener neighbor hidden behind the foliage in front of her porch makes plans for next year.

 

 

First Thought

The plans and schemes and
wild dreams that probably would
never come to fruition anyway.
But maybe.

Maybe is lost.

In this morass of
medical misadventure. 

Produce Man

I ask you both what you would do
if you could do
anything.

You answer simultaneously.
The same.

You swear you'd fly
F14s
To heaven. 
Even hell. 

But sometimes
at the start of the season

The first tomatoes
are enough

Saturday Night Dance Party

In this place that is a little bit of nothing. Toward the end of the party and trying to decide if we should pay extra to the DJ to keep spinning those records. Or maybe get rid of the DJ and just use an ipod. So out of date and irrelevant some things are. These days.

The problem is, the problem is, the problem is. There are many problems and some I am not interested in solving because the solution is not to my liking. I don’t care for it. My Mother would say when she did not like something. I can’t think of her too long or too deeply without feeling profoundly sad. I will leave this unsolvable problem to my own children.

We’re just here for a visit my Dad would say. Enjoy it. Drink it up. Drink up. And if you drink enough those memories of your own mother and war and desire and being young will be gone. The problem is that it doesn’t last forever. Eventually you will be sober. As a judge. Who is just visiting also but is too dumb to know it.

I take photos of flowers and worry that I will miss the moment when it is perfect, when the blossom is at the height of its beauty. It does not last long enough, I think. And I know that is true. The lady in the produce department said “at my age you don’t buy green bananas”. So it can go both ways. I guess.

I should know a lot about this. All the people who went before me had a lot of advice and I listened to it all but it was not relevant. We were busy dancing, paying extra to the DJ and sending someone out for more beer.  At the time everything lasted forever.  

 

 

Geology Lesson

The Niagara
escarpment.
Granite, limestone
and shale.
Erodes daily.
In increments that
are measurable only
in years.
Ancient tides
receded
and mountains rose
between
rivers that
long to find one another.
Proof then,
that desire is
eternal.

Anatomically Correct

Glad that you were not inclined
to call mine
a femur. When a thigh offers
so much more
comfort. No osseous grooves
but smooth contours that
delight. To reveal.
The secret warmth
hidden within.
Touch me
everywhere. It is
that small kiss in
a soft spot that
I will remember.

Untitled

If I take hold
of a word
and run with it.
Is it mine
then
forever?
Or does it
decompose
once it
leaves your mouth.
If you tell me today
that you love me.
Are they my words
forever?
Or have they
already
lost their meaning.
When they touch my ear.

Bless Me Father

Through the door
          voices.
Doctor as confessor
          handing out penance.
Thirty days of chemotherapy
          and four Hail Marys.
I strain not to listen
          sins of impure thoughts.
Impure deeds.
Malignant cells.
That honored thy Father
          and now thy Mother.
To make a good confession.
Two Our Fathers and a prayer
to deliver us from evil.

June

Awake. Rainy dawn.
Overwhelmed by the
Scent of sadness.
The scent of Spring.
The scent of roses.
Swollen with rain.

Walking through the
half darkness of
familiarity.
To the kitchen
where the dog stands.
By the door. Waiting
for me.

I've spent the night
talking to you.
In nicotine dreams
laying with you.
So long that the space
between us. Could be
a chasm. Or an ocean.
Or a lifetime. Could be
forever and we'd still
be attached. The knot
in the cord that binds us.
Pulled tighter each time
we pull away.

Just Drifting...

In a room half lit
with a full moon.
Thinking of the sweet taste
of banana popsicles
I ate on the beach.
Before I knew
there was a world on the other side
of the ocean.
When things ended just
at the point where I stopped
seeing them.