Red River Girl

363/365

New
vii.

Why do you insist on
turning inward? Branches
curving in the wrong
directions. Limbs
growing heavy until you are hard
to move.

At night we share
an armchair rest. Swaying with
the trains.

The newest leaves
are heart-shaped, green like Spring
and shiny.

Why do you insist on
turning inward?

360/365

New
vi.

The director of IT is
Requesting a password.

Pretending
To ask permission.

Applying service pack 10
Point 6
Point 3,
To the new version
Of me,

Now available
For download.

347/365

Gifts
ii.

These are words…

I found in a box.
By the back door.
Just outside a notebook.
Next to the tracks.
Still believing they could fly.

These I kept under my pillow.

These I kicked out.
Erased.
Let go.
By the side of the road.

These I buried.
Watered.
Transplanted in an
Unsuspecting dream.

346/365

Gifts
i.

Everything you give away
I gather…

Green twine.
Red flower pots.

Polish for
The scruffy souls.

345/365

December
v.

Even in
Winter.
Flowers bloom.

345/365

December
iv.

For the places that never
grow old.

For the secrets you never
told.

Oh for the curves and
the dips and
the swerves
and the pull of
outside and
the switch-back and
climb and the
curve

in the curves
of the road.

342/365

December
iii.

Everything afire.
Wild geese
Chasing where you kiss.

341/365

December
ii.

There you are.
Waiting for
the floor to dry.

Sweeping everything but need
away.

And sweeping.

339/365

December
i.

Waking you to watch
first snowflakes.
Winter’s fire flies.

308/365

(About) Technology

Being framed in a book is not the end of
things. Even after the cover closes. And the
lights go out. Paragraphs mingle and whisper
in tongues. Readers strike matches.

Heroines nod.

307/365

(About) the Truth

The truth can be hard to put a finger on. Like a
trigger. Only not like pulling the trigger, because
everyone knows the reader will get the last
word.

Not the girl.

306/365

(About) the Photograph

The photograph will grow on you. Slowly at
first, then blossom in the dead of winter like a
Jade. One day, you’ll realize the photograph
has been studying you. Watching you come
and go. Knitting as you wash dishes.
Rearranging blankets on the couch. Yellowing.
Yesterday, it followed you outside. To the
edge of the fire.

The photograph is never distracted by
heroines, however old-fashioned, ill-fated or
shrewd. It is content to watch you read.

It would be nice if the photo would stop.
Maybe a restraining order. In what defense?
The photograph swallowed you whole long
ago with a thousand words.

305/365

(About) the Reader

The reader knows everything about the
heroine. When not reading or within earshot
of those who read faster, the reader refers to
the heroine’s favorite songs, foods and
movies as if they were the reader’s own. As if
the heroine stepped out of line to dodge a
bullet and the reader closed the gap.

The reader comes from a long line of listeners
who took up reading when words became
flesh. For this reason, there are days the
reader goes without reading. Or sleep.

Sometimes, the reader imagines the heroine
staring back across the fire.

304/365

(About) the Heroine

Every book needs a heroine. The chapters of
history would yellow and crack without them.
Western border towns would shiver in their
river bottoms and not know why. Eastern
skies would empty their pockets of blue.

Librarians believe in heroines. There was a
time you did too: When the heroine caught
you staring, blinked and invited you in.
Dreams are more memorable with heroines.
As are laundry rooms, Bimini tops and just
around the corner.

Heroines have vices. Seductive charms.
Whiskey. Many of them wear shirts with
snaps and familiar patterns. They are not
afraid to cry uncontrollably in the middle of
dinner. Usually, after eating wasabi.

301/365

Miss
i.

lately,
we’ve called ourselves names
we knew
in high school.

before statements
and vehicles thought
to measure worth.

I wonder,
have we fallen into
or out of

truth?

294/365

Still
i.

She was

not
interested in new and
improved, organic
double-roll, special edition limited-time
offers of
now 30% more
minus rebate in
hand-written envelopes personally addressed to herself or
mailboxholder.

She did not even want
a kiss.

284/365

Return
i.

Darkest dawn of
even
darker night.
Spanning wings
of angels caught
mid-flight.
Sprinkle dust
of bones from those
who leap–
Prayer blankets
now, for
secrets
held too deep.
Spellbound by trees
we walk
on
riverbed below
No separation left, no
effort keeping
earthy mold
from promised
light.
Only faces.
Warmed by
memory
of you,
the
kindling
of life.

256/365

Somewhere
ii.

I Saw Summer
sipping wine.

I can’t say where.

Watched her loosen up
her tie.

Shake out her hair.

I asked about the brightest thing
she knew—

Eeeeazzzzzy!

She laughed.

And of course…

I wanted more.

255/365

Somewhere
i.

Fall, sacred rain.
on cigarettes
and rainbow-color cooler
cups.

Pool, sacred blood.
in bio-hazard altar perched
on auntie’s
counter.

Blow, sacred wind.
carry ashes
of another limb
to brother sky.

Roll, sacred river.
wash our faces when
we cannot
cry.