sunday

a few hours ago, charlene
got herself kicked out for cussing.
no one had slept much, the whole night.
but now, quiet breakfast noises
have overcome the shelter stink,
the rancor of feeling ill-used,
and the weight of the week.
women and a few men chew pancakes,
blow on their coffee, chit chat.
bent over a sink of dishwater,
someone is crying at the grace of it.

security

I have sometimes longed
to sit still inside an egg
as boiling waters

soothe and slowly warm
the shell, the white, and, at last,
the sullen yellow.

maples

The maples that year –
More red than I had ever seen them,
Lamped from within by strange blood
And alien urgency — stayed waving to me
Well into November, watching from a distance
And dropping silent leaves as if
Tasked with the delivery of
Some great secret. I could not take the hint.
But it was a year of peace: the wars had ended
And the indiscretions of the night,
Whatever they were, had receded.
And in the last rattling week of December,
It became the year I forgave myself.

actions

in this world, you will have trouble.
your actions will uproot and mow down.
your stillness will be filled, to the brimming limit,
with hopelessness and a sort of surrender.
at every turn, unintended consequences.
the seed cries out for the sower.
the animals pant for feed and water.
each human dwelling casts its shadow
a long ways back into deprivation
or forward towards oppression.
even the neighborhood weeds –
long and rangy browns, birdleg reds,
and the blacker, empty husks –
shake their heads against you.
hissing and sighing line your paths,
and the warmth of companionship
leaves the hearth that much cooler
when it goes.

departures

empty chairs hold themselves still.
quiet gaps in conversation
wait without speaking to be noticed.
in any given moment,
lapsed circles hold together
by miracles of social integrity
when each moment they should
burst apart into glittering dust.
the moon perceives it.
(see? her mouth, a perfect o.)
how often have we carried on
in the midst of mourning? of loss?
what secret strengths
within the fragile heart
work progress through the nights?
what blood pumping onward?
how often have we parted
and found the long way back
to one another,
if only for the weekend?
these sightings stave off separation,
as if it will never happen.
and why not? some connections endure.
we meet our former selves
rising up in the mirror
each day before the sun,
as if to say, i knew you once
and i will not forget it.