The orchid and its splitting leaves Sat drying out on the Tank of our toilet for a Year, uncomplaining about The noise, and the sheetrock dust, but, Most of all, The proximity to the Water it desired but could not Taste. Me and the orchid eyed Each other every damn day. Well, that is, what…
Category: Poetry
On Nostalgia: Wanting What We Already Had
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No matter where we fly, we are never free of memory.
We Want… Beauty
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Nightclub by Billy Collins You are so beautiful and I am a fool to be in love with you is a theme that keeps coming up in songs and poems. There seems to be no room for variation. I have never heard anyone sing I am so beautiful and you are a fool to be…
The End of Summer
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August retreats. It hands us back the year. Summer isn’t truth, but it is (as Harris Telemacher recites) “What we wish were true.” So many of us Shove out this Season of perspiration, lazily Forgetting how it Slows us Beguiles us Presses us to hold still Find the windy spaces With a friend In the…
This Orchid and I
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… we don’t know Anything about each other. Curving leaves Hidden roots One long dead Stem. How much Attention Does she need? Day 25, A River of Stones
Residue
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Men don’t leave. Skin flakes gather On sheets Cologne draped from Unaired corners. Men don’t leave.
Anger Comes
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Anger comes Nettle Under sock cuff. Minutes and hours Chopped in Food processor like Helpless almonds. Until I find My way cool again.
On a Hot Day
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hose crawls through the holly bush coughing hot leftovers into a blue backyard lagoon Day 19, July, A River of Stones
Fine Tooth Comb
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Blue plastic comb Rosemary Spray Bother the louse And its tedium. Glass-half full? Long sessions Together on a Sun-warmed stoop Hand in her hair. Day 17, A River of Stones
Passing Through
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Glassy days– Across the fields Crows can’t be bothered. Hot summer car rides Roads lounging into Forever. Windscreen winks at Passing clouds.
That Face, Listening
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Eyes fixed on mine, Nearly. Chin cupped into Palm. Furrowed brow, “Huh.” Call and response. You listen. You don’t agree. Day 12, July A River of Stones
The Wall
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This heat has No name at all until You remind yourself He. Is. There. Exit the climate-controlled Iceblock Bedroom Only to hit The Wall. Day 11, A River of Stones
I Brought a Loofa
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Private talkBetween campground showers“You need soap, Karen?”“I caught it!” “I brought a loofa.”Two women sighingOver water pleasure andFriends. Day 10, A River of Stones
Back of My Hand
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I-74Across the Mississippi–That Familiar vein throughMy life I Cross this morning east.Your still flatness hides Lonely strongCurrentsPulling me back. Day 9, A River of Stones
Iowa Storm
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Into the northwest On a thick summer Evening come Leaden skies Like a bad dream. Day 5, The River of Stones.
