Poetry

Rising Hill Road

There’s a road that curves exactly the same as the line I see on my palm
It travels along my arm to the veins I can’t see inside my heart

I walk its paths when I’m asleep
And dream its greens when I’m awake

The willows bow to trace its edges, and a late summer breeze shuffles past
The twilight sky dances toward dark, but my footsteps make no sound

The road is smooth and I am young
At the end of it is home

So, I hold my breath and hope to catch a glimpse of the far-off waning moon

Country Talk

Well,
if I ever make a needlework sampler,
to hang up on the panelin’ a some new home
The stitchy letters won’t give no advice on how to
Live, Laugh,
or – Lord help us – Love

No.
My advice gone be much, much simpler:
“Take the stitchin’ out your own faithless heart, child”
Let it bleed, for Christ’s sake
Let. It.
Bleed

nostalgia for the not-yet

i want to walk the streets of a small hometown with my arm around only you
to live where my choice of gas stations and grocery stores is limited to two

yes, it may take us nearly an hour to get to a movie or mall
but when we’re drivin’ on the way, we’ll find some time to talk

yes, we’ll miss dining out frequently, and eating foreign food
but maybe we‘ll appreciate it even more then, when we do

yes, our children might turn into, or worse even – marry, rednecks
but their worries won’t be any larger dear, than their biggest paychecks

we wouldn’t have to own lots of land just to feel a space in this world
there’d be space as far as we could see, waitin’ outside our front door

we’d throw horseshoes toward the setting sun, let the kids run barefoot at night
our kisses would land light as air, and our love always stay in sight

we could learn somehow to slow life down and live the here and now
push back against the dam of time and spread more hope around

i see it, darling; can you too? is it a place you’d like to know?
then take my hand, wrap it up in yours. together we will go.

Helpless

On a grey day I long for your intensity
To lay bare on a blanket, covered only in heat
eyes closed against the glare
I'd spread my limbs toward your color,
open my mouth and swallow warmth

And when you peek through the fluff of 

partly cloudy, I wish for more of you
I’m willing to linger --
hoping for just enough rays to freckle my skin,
just enough flame to flush my cheeks

Even on a blistery day, with you at your brightest
and me completely exposed, nearly on fire
I never tell you to go away
(how would I even try? you rise and set not at my command.)
Turn me to shadow, so long as you stay

Though I know you wrinkle and age
I've seen the spots you leave behind
-- the exhaustion your passion creates
Why, I myself stroke burning flesh 

of patients in your cancer ward

Lovers at Sea

Beloved Beauty pursuing her bliss –
a tale that is sure to make sore
Trolling blue depths for the truest of myths,

her sailor not gone off to war

No, he’s right there beside her
spinning yarn into gold
Yes, he’s steering in tighter
love’s mercies to hold

They’re naming the waters
of souls torn asunder
While trash is turned treasure,
worth well more than plunder

The Anne girl loves better; him by her side
no union was ever so sweet
Songs never ending for his blushing bride,
the loveliest star of the fleet

(untitled)

The cat in the cradle told me to hold my tongue,
then suggested a frame for my face
"Don't let go of those tears," he said.
"And you may want to hang on to smiles, too."

Soon I learned how to keep it all tucked in close
We had everything completely under control
-- and what a team we were,
that cat and I

But what the feline failed to say, let alone know
is that the more you hold on to,
the more there is to drop. And
oh the hissing, when that basket finally hits the ground!

Next thing you know, I'm down there too
Scratching and clawing for correction
"Decorum! Maintain the... we must have the
--ahem, Order!"

That's when I spy the running red lines
That's when I look back at my curled up claws
That's when I long to learn the ways of another,
gentler, less clutchy animal

de-classification

State your name and address lady,
then tell me where you're from
Last name first and first name last
-- we gotta move this thing along

Rank and file and exact location;
are these the matters of identification?

I don't have answers to your questions
-- not the kind of answers you seek
Fill in the blank and True or False
Small boxes which ask for a check

"Fine" and "Good" are not the only responses
to the question, "How do you do?"

And just because it's the biggest footprint
you swear you've ever seen,
does not mean that you know at all
who I am, nor where I've been

Progress

Most days I manage a pretty even pace up this (un)naturally graveled hill.
Perhaps it’s a mountain, but the trees beside, in back and front, betray the budding view.

I hear your walking steps out here, the smush of leaves beneath your boots, the snap of breaking twigs. 

We're all out here it seems, but rarely do we travel in packs. (Can't get into why just now)

When our paths cross, I'm thinking you don't see the stack of pages trailing behind me.

It's so small, why would you even look?

Just a ragged pile of paper, faded, recycled blue; 

the middle of it bound with string and hanging from my shoe.

Torn edges scrape along, margins collecting dirt. Which is okay, like I said, the paper is not exactly, (was it ever?) fresh, new and white. Sometimes I stop to examine the dull pastels, the dingy yarn wrapped around them, and me. Who could believe these knots would last fo(u)r years?

But mostly I keep climbing.

Nothing that tiny could ever slow me down. Surely, you've even seen me running the smoother pieces of this trail. See how quick my step is on the rocks, how lightly I traverse? The hitch in my gait from the bundle below is now a natural walk.

And on really lucky days, I fly, weighed down by not one thing.

That’s when I call your name loudest and beg you watch me soar.

I will never grow weary, mounting up with eagle wings.

My walk will never faint.

But some days – like yesterday. When I know today is coming and no one remembers but me.

The package snags upon a thorn and I long for you to see. Slow up, fall behind me.

Reach down and untangle the mess -- I stop to question; your shadow glides ahead.

My lips part at the sight of your own trailing baggage and close at the sound of its bounce