He wears his shoulders higher
so much so mine no longer drape
and must climb a bit
while he gravels his voice
and places foot astride my shoe
apprising how soon
he'll be lord
though in practice
he manages his minion brother to distraction
in the frozen section at the market
the same spot I once leaned over
his feet dangling from the carrier
squirming at the cold
so the kind lady reached in
handed the box
to him, cooing, both
smiling
completely
unlike today, brothers bickering
like a murder
of crows
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Crows
14 crows perch on the neck
and shoulders of the middle-aged pine
squabbling no doubt over whose is
the blowing wrapper lifted from the bins
and whose is the too-much-so-toss-it
lettuce shreds, corn-fed cow bits
all a-splat, HFCS ketchup bleeding everywhere
from hideously smooth buns.
If they preen my eyes can't discern
but for a flash of sallow beak against black feather.
It's said that crows have voracious memories
and will pester anyone who disturbs them
remembering faces for years, memories
of ancient wrongs they've been storing
in the clouds far longer than any computer
so I studiously avoid shooing them
just measuring the 14 steps from my door to the ground
and 32 paces around the bend to my silver car
sometimes wondering where the color
in birds went, and where went their songs
and shoulders of the middle-aged pine
squabbling no doubt over whose is
the blowing wrapper lifted from the bins
and whose is the too-much-so-toss-it
lettuce shreds, corn-fed cow bits
all a-splat, HFCS ketchup bleeding everywhere
from hideously smooth buns.
If they preen my eyes can't discern
but for a flash of sallow beak against black feather.
It's said that crows have voracious memories
and will pester anyone who disturbs them
remembering faces for years, memories
of ancient wrongs they've been storing
in the clouds far longer than any computer
so I studiously avoid shooing them
just measuring the 14 steps from my door to the ground
and 32 paces around the bend to my silver car
sometimes wondering where the color
in birds went, and where went their songs
Monday, December 31, 2012
Re/Solution
The first one didn't quite
solve so gotta redo
gonna re-solve
a re/solution
this new year.
First, write.
Check.
Second, solve.
Second again, re/solve.
Third, learn
to count.
Imma gonna make a list
makes me a makealist
sorta like a realist
but not really.
On that list everything I won't eat
exercises not to do
people not to see
music not to listen
thoughts not to think
the first time
only the second, the re/solve
complete, the second time around.
solve so gotta redo
gonna re-solve
a re/solution
this new year.
First, write.
Check.
Second, solve.
Second again, re/solve.
Third, learn
to count.
Imma gonna make a list
makes me a makealist
sorta like a realist
but not really.
On that list everything I won't eat
exercises not to do
people not to see
music not to listen
thoughts not to think
the first time
only the second, the re/solve
complete, the second time around.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Gift
Feet climbed into stockings, into shoes with wiggling toes, as though heavy-lidded eyes on the tips of five snakes darted to and fro seeking communal entrance to a sheltering cave.
A sigh, a groan raced up the telephone wire nerve interchange from those grounded feet, rising through an upside down pachinko game, pinging and slinging sideways then up through the knees - those two half-pendulums - up thighs that once spread to planted seed and later to bear children and then, on occasion, to form a lap, through the swinging hips that knew how to expertly buttress a glass-windowed kitchen door, up the laddered spine with its rungs of pain, past a neck longing for sober kisses or even drunk ones, slotting into a cerebellum with its own take-a-number turnstile: take a number, aching arches, compressed toes, get in line, you'll get your turn of attention next time we assemble at the shoe store.
For now, get on.
For now, for fifty years of now, slipping the shard ends of bone into wrapped leather taught Grandma a chief life lesson which she then gifted to me. Exhorted, even, when she finally put up the "Closed" sign on serving food to mostly paying customers.
"Always buy good shoes."
She looked at me with clear eyes that pierced like sewing needles, stitching me up against a hard world. With a glance she could see down to cold bone, but her half-smile was never a smirk.
"Always buy good shoes, and good scotch." One for standing up, one for sitting down.
Some gifts come at Christmas, some on the day celebrating when your mother did all that work pushing you out into the embrace of others, but maybe the best come any time, for all time:
"Pour me a Scotch, hon', and yourself too, and come sit, and have a drink with your ol' Grandma."
Would love to, Grandma, anytime.
Wherever you are - Merry Christmas.
A sigh, a groan raced up the telephone wire nerve interchange from those grounded feet, rising through an upside down pachinko game, pinging and slinging sideways then up through the knees - those two half-pendulums - up thighs that once spread to planted seed and later to bear children and then, on occasion, to form a lap, through the swinging hips that knew how to expertly buttress a glass-windowed kitchen door, up the laddered spine with its rungs of pain, past a neck longing for sober kisses or even drunk ones, slotting into a cerebellum with its own take-a-number turnstile: take a number, aching arches, compressed toes, get in line, you'll get your turn of attention next time we assemble at the shoe store.
For now, get on.
For now, for fifty years of now, slipping the shard ends of bone into wrapped leather taught Grandma a chief life lesson which she then gifted to me. Exhorted, even, when she finally put up the "Closed" sign on serving food to mostly paying customers.
"Always buy good shoes."
She looked at me with clear eyes that pierced like sewing needles, stitching me up against a hard world. With a glance she could see down to cold bone, but her half-smile was never a smirk.
"Always buy good shoes, and good scotch." One for standing up, one for sitting down.
Some gifts come at Christmas, some on the day celebrating when your mother did all that work pushing you out into the embrace of others, but maybe the best come any time, for all time:
"Pour me a Scotch, hon', and yourself too, and come sit, and have a drink with your ol' Grandma."
Would love to, Grandma, anytime.
Wherever you are - Merry Christmas.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Bait
After it rained the other night
getting in the car
taking the boys to school
stepping from curb to street
over the gutter with water still flowing
Lang noticed several worms
squiggling like fish squirming
as if asking to be bait
which he wanted to collect them for
save them in a jar
Where would you keep them
in the fridge
until Saturday and then
to the jetty.
But we had to go
get bagel sandwiches before the bell rang
and Jax scoffed at the fridge idea
said Come ON Lang let's GO
so the boys scuffed into their seats
crossed their chests
safety belts like a talisman, a blessing
to keep them safe
until they get to school
where everyone is safe
Meanwhile those worms
probably didn't make it back up to the lawn
since the waiting crows
winged down in my rear view mirror
from perches closer to heaven
black in the treetops
patient as night
whispering as they descended
with open beaks
it's never safe
getting in the car
taking the boys to school
stepping from curb to street
over the gutter with water still flowing
Lang noticed several worms
squiggling like fish squirming
as if asking to be bait
which he wanted to collect them for
save them in a jar
Where would you keep them
in the fridge
until Saturday and then
to the jetty.
But we had to go
get bagel sandwiches before the bell rang
and Jax scoffed at the fridge idea
said Come ON Lang let's GO
so the boys scuffed into their seats
crossed their chests
safety belts like a talisman, a blessing
to keep them safe
until they get to school
where everyone is safe
Meanwhile those worms
probably didn't make it back up to the lawn
since the waiting crows
winged down in my rear view mirror
from perches closer to heaven
black in the treetops
patient as night
whispering as they descended
with open beaks
it's never safe
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Kiliminjaro
I'm going to stumble through
all the tense verbs, imperfect
simple future present past
There, floating, hanging
like ducks in Chinatown, every word
dead, waiting to be chewed, spit, shit
Sometimes I turn on the foreign language channels
to see if I can lip read
any better
It rained no it didn't
so much as cascade, proverbial buckets,
adjectives, nouns, adverbs insufficient for the torrent
on Kiliminjaro's flanks
post-climb, all 20 miles down from the highest huts
where I'd left my red guts
back to base camp in a single running descent
to keep the jelly in my skull from exploding.
We walked beneath the canopy, all I remember
is brown mud, brown bark, slate wet, a green leaf wall,
black shadow, tan thatch, charcoal shadowed doorways
silence silken as falling water
(learning that Gore-tex was no match for this rain)
and then a hand reached out
beckoning us out of the deluge
into the smoky cool beneath a thatch cone
while on the brazier fire, sized like an old Folgers' can
fire is the wrong word, it was much more efficient
a pot, a ladle, some words
they were speaking some words
perhaps Swahili. Jeannette tried French
once English got the head shake
and a bowl was offered, accepted.
We sipped. How many faces were there?
If there is shame, it's that I don't recall
who these people were, how many, their names and faces,
we were the strangers with shoes
and coats that cost a year's pay locally
but still couldn't keep out the rain
yet still swept in, sustained with a smile,
shared with
they would not accept our paper money
as the sky slipped away.
all the tense verbs, imperfect
simple future present past
There, floating, hanging
like ducks in Chinatown, every word
dead, waiting to be chewed, spit, shit
Sometimes I turn on the foreign language channels
to see if I can lip read
any better
It rained no it didn't
so much as cascade, proverbial buckets,
adjectives, nouns, adverbs insufficient for the torrent
on Kiliminjaro's flanks
post-climb, all 20 miles down from the highest huts
where I'd left my red guts
back to base camp in a single running descent
to keep the jelly in my skull from exploding.
We walked beneath the canopy, all I remember
is brown mud, brown bark, slate wet, a green leaf wall,
black shadow, tan thatch, charcoal shadowed doorways
silence silken as falling water
(learning that Gore-tex was no match for this rain)
and then a hand reached out
beckoning us out of the deluge
into the smoky cool beneath a thatch cone
while on the brazier fire, sized like an old Folgers' can
fire is the wrong word, it was much more efficient
a pot, a ladle, some words
they were speaking some words
perhaps Swahili. Jeannette tried French
once English got the head shake
and a bowl was offered, accepted.
We sipped. How many faces were there?
If there is shame, it's that I don't recall
who these people were, how many, their names and faces,
we were the strangers with shoes
and coats that cost a year's pay locally
but still couldn't keep out the rain
yet still swept in, sustained with a smile,
shared with
they would not accept our paper money
as the sky slipped away.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
5, 10, 15
It's this
week again, where we lose
time and people
every year the same
loss
5, 10, 15:
the 5th was Roberto spinning off the earth
into the ditch when the square inch of bike tire
no longer hugged the road
and his brother Carl's arms
couldn't hug life in
the 10th was Caleigh not quite seeing light
stuck as she was by the midwife's needle
when we trusted not knowing Lori
kept fear loaded in the syringe
she would have been 15 this year
maybe she's wearing a quinceanera dress
decked out in rhinestone
stars pulled from heaven
I don't quite know what to do
with the quiet
echo of his laugh
and the hanging moment
when the doppler was silent
5, 10, 15 seconds, no heartbeats
no heartbeats after
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