You may find yourself
throwing things away.
underwear
old photographs
and
letters.
and just because a
stranger in an
airport says
he loves you,
you stay awake
at night.
And still find yourself
throwing things away.
except
last year’s tax return
and
postcards.
I can find you
in a candle. in
the jack and peel
of apple. I can
find you
in the underneath
of Spring.
I can find you
in an album. in
the scratch and turn
of vinyl. I can
find you
in the song
a river sings.
I can find you
in a question. in
a silent
conversation. I can
find you
in the company
you bring.
And you may
not be
my first Love.
No.
but I can find you.
What window
let you in
what door
forgot
to close
how is it
no one
stopped you asked
you why
how did you
find
this place how
did you know
and now…
Now.
what did you think
you’d
see/seek
look for
glance browse
watch
search
listen sift through
climb to
find?
sink
into life
said the river
take your turn
said the moon
in time
you will find
said time
hold all that floats
in common
said the river
water cannot begin undo
what you
hadst left
undone
I follow as you
follow
said the moon
duplicity
a thousand minute hands
bells tolls ticks clocks
alarms can neither slow
or quicken sting
or thought
of hapless mind
said time
come rest here
in
my arms
I will open a bank
said the river
wash away the
combination take you
swimming keep
a rope swing
in the safe
I see you
said the moon
I see you look again
pretend
count me
I am yours
said time or
spend me
you are
mine
the ghosts of trees
and goddesses
are knocking
said the river let
them in
close your eyes
said the moon
rewind, rewind
rewind
to tell or
not
to tell
said time I’ve not
forgotten
I will rise
to meet you
said the river
courtesy
at your door
I will pull you
even closer
said the moon
I am only
passing by
said time
Tomorrow has theories and
plans.
Today wants to drive faster.
stand too close.
take chances.
Today,
Don is thinking
about his mother.
she wore bobby pins
in her hair, he tells me.
it was curly.
like yours.
she would never
slip pills
into drinking water. or
speak to
strange men. or
go dancing.
would you like
to dance?
can I get you
a drink?
To you,
they are black t-shirts.
Who could ever need so many?
To me they are:
late on Monday and
first-time client and
ignore this bad hair day and
celebrate because day and
casual day and
not my birthday and
the bosses birthday and
bring your daughter to work day and
not every day and
no daycare today and
last weekend and
lost weekends and
just back from Mardi Gras and
family vacation and
in need of time off day and
the middle of Wednesday and
work-in-a-workout and
in-between seasons and should maybe have
just called in sick day and
hooray for the team day and
it’s raining again day and
we can pretend, but it’s still
not quite payday and if
time, being time,
forget this kiss,
then yes.
On that day, they will seem
like a stack of black t-shirts,
plus one.
Who could ever need so many?
Patrons sift through
newspapers. Open
today’s mail. Try to ignore
the sportscast vs.
muffled oldies
competition.
One pair wanders,
drawn toward pop
machine. Then vending.
Father buys peanut butter,
Orange Crush. Son gets
chocolate chip, Mt. Dew and
replica
of father’s chin.
Startled goose
calls out
from son’s
back pocket. The ride’s
here.
Repair-shop window
watches. Blinks.
Thinks this
could
be a postcard.
what happened today
was a dream.
sponsored by
wireless access. online
storage. streaming.
geocached
with an app. no need
to refrigerate
after opening.
you are
a weather forecast,
calculated hint
of things to come.
ears across
a thousand
lakes stay up, wake
up to listen—
saving
grace of new
Love’s uncertain
conversation,
slipping in
to fill the space
when
Love has gone.
you are
a morning fog, floor
exercise
hell bent on
tumbling into
traffic.
somersault and
roll, half-twist whisk
beads of sweat
at windshields.
transit drivers glance
and wipe, commuters
file into offices
just one small
rabbit
stays to watch
the end
of your routine, no
scoring
cards, no
roses.
You are
an unexpected storm
a long ride home, slim chance
worth taking.
Even gracious hosts
won’t ask you stay.
The Faithful
drive straight through.
Leave their clothes.
Rapture.
you are
an early Spring, a
hooker
out of blow. last
call’s drink
left on
the bar because
the building
went
and set us all
on fire.
if you believe this–
if you wish
to sit.
stay.
settle…
there are
hinges
to be left alone
and matches
not to gather.
you are
a late snowfall,
blanket of
sleep, cool pillows
to sink
into. sad because
no one
wants you
to stay.
even the tolerant
shake their heads.
sip coffee.
say:
the sun will come and
float your mattress
out to sea.
it is the moment you realize everything and
everyone around you
is mirage.
and when you leave home
you’ll find your lover has been
sprinkling breadcrumbs
on the path again and
footsteps in the puddles lead to
monkeys, muse and morals and
you will not be
perplexed
by this.
Red River Girl 