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Archive for December, 2016

So as Not to Overwhelm You

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on December 11, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

trying to fit it

into a tea cup,

this ocean of love

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The Neighbor’s Kid

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on December 10, 2016| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Baring my claws for the pleasure of retracting them, choosing again to be gentle.

 

 

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Joyful, Joyful

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on December 9, 2016| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

From the back row, no one can see

that the flute player’s white oxford shirt

is mis-buttoned. His dirty blonde hair

falls into his eyes. He tosses it back

with a flick of his head, picks up his instrument

and focuses his attention on the conductor.

 

With a lurch, the sixth-grade band launches

into the last section of Beethoven’s 9th,

and the familiar tune of Ode to Joy

brightens the dim auditorium.

 

The conductor keeps perfect time,

and the students, though stilted,

follow her rhythm. I think of Vienna,

1824, in the Theatre am Karntnertor,

when Beethoven himself stood on stage

at the end of his career to direct the premiere,

his first time on stage in twelve years.

 

Though he could not hear the symphony, he furiously

waved his arms in tempo, moving his body

as if to play all the instruments at once,

as if he could be every voice in the chorus.

 

And when it was done, the great composer

went on, still conducting, not knowing

it was over until the contralto soloist moved to him

and turned him to face the ovation.

 

With the greatest respect, and knowing

that applause could not reach him,

the audience members raised their hands and hats

and threw white handkerchiefs into the air,

then rose five times to their feet.

 

When the sixth grade band director

lowers her arms, the young musicians stop with her.

They rise and bow, and the audience claps

and some of the parents whoop.

And the students bow again, and again,

though the clapping is done.

They do not yet know how to carry pride

in their awkward bodies, and they stumble

and list off the stage.

 

The flute player’s black pants are too short

for his long thin legs. He is growing in ways

neither he nor his mother can understand.

There she is, weeping in the back row,

in her ears, in her heart, a song of joy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Always Arriving,

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on December 7, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

the train

just around

the long curve,

with its cars full

of velvet-lined songs

and sparkling tomorrows.

I stand at the edge of the rails

my good arm always already raised

and waving, afraid that when the train

finally arrives, the conductor will smile and

wave back as the train trundles merrily

along the track, afraid he’ll mistake

my gesture for a greeting, not

seeing I’m trying to wave

the engine down. I have

songs in my pockets. I

learn the joy of

spending them

on the curve.

 

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A Brief Détente

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on December 6, 2016| 3 Comments »

 

 

 

From across the pond,

the doe and I regard each other—

she with enormous brown eyes,

 

me with my hands full of empty.

We take turns pretending

we’re not watching each other,

 

but we are, aware

of each other’s slightest move.

She goes back to her eating.

 

I go back to shaking

the dried iris pods

to see if they rattle. They do.

 

She startles,

but does not run to the trees,

and I am oddly relieved

 

as she interests herself again

in the grass spiking out of the snow.

All day a feeling of doom

 

has settled in me, a heavy, unshakable

dark. It is not that it lessens

because of the doe, but perhaps

 

it does. She lifts her head

again for something I do not hear or see,

and I, too, tense, before we return

 

to the fragile moment, this small act

of trusting each other, witnesses

to the cold in the air,

 

the ice already cured on the pond,

the day losing

whatever color it had left,

 

the iris seeds spilling

their dark, latent praise

atop the snow.

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When the Ache Comes

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on December 5, 2016| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

A teaspoon to dig out an avalanche, doesn’t matter if it’s sterling.

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When My Friend Said, “The Baby Quail Didn’t Survive”

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on December 5, 2016| 2 Comments »

 

 

Make definite assertions. Avoid tame, colorless hesitating, noncommittal language. Use the word not as a means of denial or in antithesis, never as a means of evasion.

            —Elements of Style, Strunk & White

 

 

It would be less preferred

to say of the baby quail

that “It did not survive”

when the falcon

went hunting

along the side of the cliff.

Better, say the experts,

to make definite assertions,

“It died.”

It’s rule twelve:

“Put statements

in positive form.”

But what to say

of the inner fight,

how the soul cheers

for the falcon in flight—

all grace and ferocity,

precision, might.

While the heart

can’t help but cheer

for that bumbling chick

brown-striped, blameless,

chirp and slip.

It’s not that the heart

is trying to evade,

not trying to lie,

it just wants

to build a small hope

for us all with the word survive

something to soften the truth—

all things die.

 

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The Serious Moonlight

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on December 3, 2016| Leave a Comment »

The Serious Moonlight

 

 

It’s just a trick

the owl plays

to fool the ears

of evening prey—

it finds a branch

not too far off,

then calls, first loud,

and then calls soft,

an illusion.

I have no will

to dupe your heart—

to linger close

but play I’m far.

No, I just want

to be where you are

and be caught

in the ravishing moonlight.

 

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We Think We Can Wait to Clean Out the Debris

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on December 2, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

But it’s not just another culvert, the aorta.

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One Return

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on December 1, 2016| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

calling me collect,

that bum of a memory

I kicked out years ago

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