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Posts Tagged ‘violence’

In Orbit

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 26, 2021| 6 Comments »


 
 
Count the one beautiful blue and green planet.
Count it again.
Say “home,” then marvel at the taste of tears.
Notice how no borders matter from here.
Remember how important they feel
when standing on a border. Once
you dreamt of being alone. Of being
far away from parking lots and grocery store lines
and men with guns and violent conviction.
Now you dream of touching someone else,
of breathing in the scent of garden dirt,
of hearing a voice without static, of lying down
in a bed, held by your own sweet gravity.
What you would do to taste a tree-ripened peach.
Give up on counting stars. Draw lines between them,
creating your own constellations:
The open hand. The river gorge. The crooked evergreen.
A semi-automatic rifle, which you re-constellate
into a small bouquet of lilies. Consider forgiveness.
Wonder how long it will take before it feels authentic.
Circling has taught you how things come around.
Remember? There was a time you didn’t think
you knew how to pray.
 

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Another Way to Do It

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on July 5, 2012| 3 Comments »

Let her not like the apricots,
that’s one way to do it. Just say,

Oh. Or, Hmm. But no.
I question her dislike,

want to serve her apricots so ripe
they have fallen to the orchard floor,

sun warmed and red cheeked
and soft so soft.

I want to serve her the juiciest ones,
the apricots so ripe you have to hold your hand

far in front of your mouth and lean,
or better yet, the apricot you eat as you stand

beneath the tree and offer your mouth
to the branch and suckle the juice, let

it runnel down the chin, the cheeks, the neck,
I wanted to serve her apricots. It is like wanting

to convince someone who likes blue
that instead they should like red.

Why do I defend the apricot?
It occurs to me whole countries go to war

just this way … with one person who says
they know better. One person who knows

what God is like, or what is good, or what is right.
I’m sorry, I tell her, when I call her back. And she laughs.

And I laugh. How easy it is to get lost
on the way to something sweet.

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