I art, therefore I am…
Where we lived, nothing blew over. We kept our fingers to the air and instruments around the house. We kept our gizmos to the weather. Even when it did not affect us, we knew to be prepared. We could see low clouds on night’s horizon, we could hear wind pounding across the woods. We felt … Continue reading “Weather”
Where we lived, nothing blew over.
We kept our fingers to the air
and instruments around the house.
We kept our gizmos to the weather.
Even when it did not affect us,
we knew to be prepared.
We could see low clouds on night’s
horizon, we could hear wind
pounding across the woods. We felt
heavy rains lashing the roof.
We cowered in the shower.
We could let nothing go
unnoticed. We counted every cloud.
We always had our umbrellas
so the sun could not leave us blind.
I was talking to the moon, Interrupted by clouds and dark, even the stars blinked out of sight. She was so familiar. It seemed words were hardly necessary. She tilted into the sky, so inviting, her cratered face open, she was content to reflect borrowed light, silent beams bending in trees.
I was talking to the moon,
Interrupted by clouds and dark,
even the stars blinked
out of sight. She was so familiar.
It seemed words were hardly
necessary. She tilted
into the sky, so inviting,
her cratered face open, she was content
to reflect borrowed light,
silent beams bending in trees.
We travel with ghosts. That reel-to-reel tape player You hid beneath tinsel and bows Was going to let you last forever. I could have your voice To carry, no matter what the years Stripped away. I interviewed you Saturday mornings, after Bingo And Fresca and trinkets I won From your jewelry box. Nothing stayed. I … Continue reading “Christmas, reel-to-reel”
We travel with ghosts.
That reel-to-reel tape player
You hid beneath tinsel and bows
Was going to let you last forever.
I could have your voice
To carry, no matter what the years
Stripped away. I interviewed you
Saturday mornings, after Bingo
And Fresca and trinkets I won
From your jewelry box.
Nothing stayed. I can almost bear
The sight of your writing
On old letters in the attic.
But I cannot stand to read
The stories we once shared.
All time comes no more.
I am as old as you were then
And every day, heaven comes closer.
Your voice nearly whispers
In my ear. Crazy is a place
That could keep me from you.
The day you turned Springsteen blue Crushed something in my heart. What we talk about when we talk Is never what we mean. I like to keep things Clean, but you don’t see the dirt. I sort by category and weight I read labels, and experience. Rayon shrinks, deep colors bleed. You say you will … Continue reading “My Husband Does the Wash”
The day you turned Springsteen blue
Crushed something in my heart.
What we talk about when we talk
Is never what we mean. I like to keep things
Clean, but you don’t see the dirt.
I sort by category and weight
I read labels, and experience.
Rayon shrinks, deep colors bleed.
You say you will cover it up, the blue
BVDs and the grey undershirts. I wear
Everything on my sleeve, including old
Memories of Bruce, center stage
On my mind’s eye, his guitar tuned
To the beat in my pulse.
key words: laundry, Bruce Springsteen, relationships
We had gone as far as the road Could take us. We’d come to other forks And made up our minds, or made do. Here, though, we gave up our fancy machines And stumbled on, by foot. Sometimes, we had stopped to laugh Or catch our breath at wonders That came our way. When we … Continue reading “That Would Be Singing”
We had gone as far as the road
Could take us. We’d come to other forks
And made up our minds, or made do.
Here, though, we gave up our fancy machines
And stumbled on, by foot.
Sometimes, we had stopped to laugh
Or catch our breath at wonders
That came our way. When we had to,
We raised angry voices to the wind,
As if it might change direction.
We had the latest gadgets,
Which told us where we were,
Thirty-feet, more or less.
Since we had each other, we claimed
We were never lost. Sometimes night
Took us by surprise,
And when we faltered,
We held each other tight.
Here at this stopping point
The path is only wide enough
For one to go, and one to follow.
You take the light, I say,
Since you insist on clearing a way
And leading me with that one good hand.
For a bit, I hear you sing
A little tune, and I hum along.
Then you see something ahead,
And you hurry. I don’t.
Wait here, you say. I’ll check this out.
And though the unknown
Has long worried me,
You are fearless.
I wait.
I kiss your dry cheek
And watch you fade
Through an opening.
Cry though I might,
I cannot get you back.
Nor can I turn around.
I’ll stand a while,
Perplexed,
Before I move along.
Oil painting by Ryutaro Ikeda.
key words: dying, loss, grief
I was the fat lady dressed Like a bumble bee in my warm Up clothes, front row At the gym, where I threw Hooks so fast they nearly nailed The mirror. I have always been my own Enemy, and though I do not look Myself in the eye, I know how to land A punishing … Continue reading “Like a Butterfly”
I was the fat lady dressed
Like a bumble bee in my warm
Up clothes, front row
At the gym, where I threw
Hooks so fast they nearly nailed
The mirror. I have always been my own
Enemy, and though I do not look
Myself in the eye, I know how to land
A punishing blow or two. I float
Under the weight of my own worried mind
And sting at thoughts that hover there.
Ali, where have you gone? I need a man
To write my name on the mattress and stand
Up for me, or beside, to carve my name
Against the fierce dark night, to cheer
When I am down for the count
Laid low and bloody by the everyday
Opponents of this life.
In your absence, I burn Every light in the house. Darkness Swells with my old worries. Things live there, that never see The light of day. Monsters skulk In every closet, gather under the bed, Jump from behind each corner. Lights On, I can pretend we still gather, Our ghosts and the lives we made … Continue reading “Power”
In your absence, I burn
Every light in the house. Darkness
Swells with my old worries.
Things live there, that never see
The light of day. Monsters skulk
In every closet, gather under the bed,
Jump from behind each corner. Lights
On, I can pretend we still gather,
Our ghosts and the lives we made
Launched or failed, bright spirits of our love
In this world. I close the curtains
Against the dark woods beyond
Our living room. Even the closet
Lights are on, bathrooms and garage,
Empty places where we once rested our weary
Hearts against the weight
Of one another. If I could sail above these fears
My own bright soul would need
Nothing but itself. As it is, electricity
Pours through this night, and I wait
For the power to give.
for Erik You hurtle down a southern highway Nothing you love better than this Bike holding to the road, your face Stretched to the wind splitting Across the fahring. You can see For miles, the truckers and the texters The unfamiliar road and the trees, bent With the remnants of summer heat. You have poured … Continue reading “Into the stars!”
for Erik
You hurtle down a southern highway
Nothing you love better than this
Bike holding to the road, your face
Stretched to the wind splitting
Across the fahring. You can see
For miles, the truckers and the texters
The unfamiliar road and the trees, bent
With the remnants of summer heat.
You have poured your life
Into this bike, worked her to your specs
Cradled her old engine, pushed the throttle
And disappeared.
I can see us riding now, our disappearing future
Hurtling us to the stars, so far from home
We label them with numbers
And cannot count the miles.
We will hit that road before we know it,
Unable to look down or back,
We will hurtle through the dark
Wind that does not call our names.
key words: motorcycles, BMW R-Series, eternity, love, death
–…we let loose of everything –Bruce Springsteen One breathless night he whispers Should I be afraid? Aren’t we all, Spinning through the black of dreams Unaware of what might land next A derecho or a fire A war outside raging within. Earth sheds us before we know Who we are. I am holding … Continue reading “In the Deep Heart of the Night”
–…we let loose of everything
–Bruce Springsteen
One breathless night he whispers
Should I be afraid?
Aren’t we all,
Spinning through the black of dreams
Unaware of what might land next
A derecho or a fire
A war outside raging within.
Earth sheds us before we know
Who we are. I am holding on
So hard my hands hurt.
They burn. So do we.
Breathe on them, baby, while we can.
key words: Bruce Springsteen, night, dreams, fear
Clarence Elemental as rain he falls. Hands cupped in the desert you wait to catch him– at least the midnight flash, the feel of a woman’s low cry the touch of rain on your skin a moment when he blew you away Key words: Bruce, Clarence, music, saxophone, born to run
Clarence
Elemental as rain
he falls. Hands cupped
in the desert
you wait
to catch him–
at least the midnight
flash, the feel
of a woman’s low cry
the touch of rain
on your skin
a moment
when he blew
you away
Key words: Bruce, Clarence, music, saxophone, born to run
