Tell me again how the grassland swayed as if in worship, waving to sky whenever the mute-footed giants walked by, and tell of the mountains on earth they made. Of how they left footprints around their graves from pacing with grief as deep as muddy rivers—and how they bowed to the bloodied ground. Remind… Continue reading Elegy for the Elephant
Grandma, I just love your veins, touching one protruding on my left hand, watching it sully from side to side. Grandma, your hands are like specimens, my own interpretation. Veins reminiscent of invertebrates in the Natural History Museum— earthworms, centipedes, those that squirm and seek shelter. If a museum object: Left hand, mature female homo sapiens, Caucasus, sepia-colored… Continue reading Hand, or Specimen?
I wonder how I existed before I became real at 9:40 a.m. Before this morning’s appointment at the DMV I must have drifted unnoticed, aimless as a dust mote. I must have been undetected by the neighborhood radar when they tracked everyone going to the gym, walking a dog and bagging its waste. I wonder… Continue reading Who Was I Before Real I.D.?
In sunlight it’s prairie grass rippled by a wind, a meadow rill that tumbles past to yellow’s end. A whisper of secrets shared with cheeks and face, or captured in a braid, her hair crocheted like lace. At night it spills across her brow, frothy champagne bubbling and breathy, now intoxicating. Someday begging to be… Continue reading A Young Girl’s Blonde Hair
This ring of redwoods is patient beyond any patience I ever waited for. Patient in peaceful protest against the meanness of time, and with the ground that cringes underneath their roots, the rumble and creak of a weary world. Patient with the roar of civilization they swallow to save us from ourselves, and once absorbed… Continue reading Tolerance as Taught by the Redwoods
And from the darkness, curled up on a chair the girl heard a gunshot from the screen. The mother deer would never more be seen and the girl's youth blew past her like cold air. She cried and gripped tight her sister's arm and gradually her stinging tears would fade, but innocence had also blown… Continue reading Requiem for Australia
It began as a hole punched in a page in November, in a garage precinct after waiting in line, shifting our legs, removing our coats and our shared beliefs. The altitude changed when we walked outside as if driveway and street had become a cliff, a chasm across which we'd taken sides— or actually between… Continue reading On the Altar of a Vote
Here the leaves were left to stay in shimmers underneath the trees. In mounds of gold brighter than day their autumn simmers on its way to winter's gray finality. The poet: "Nothing gold can stay," and now I see the leaves face down. But all their stems reach up stick straight like small arms raised… Continue reading Pear Trees II: Nothing Gold Can Last
it tapped at my memory two-stepped on my brain galloped on the rooftop sprinted down a drain sometimes a calliope other times a train seeped into my nightmare dallied with my dream hammered on the skylight pushed me to a scream until i figured what it was i might be hearing rain then it seemed… Continue reading Only in San Diego
"The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings." Robert Louis Stevenson, 1885 from "A Child's Garden of Verses" A scrap of verse, no more than a smile— and yet it lingers in my mind--- a little girl in a backwoods home in the… Continue reading Gift from a Garden of Verses
The tendons in her hands are creased as the sharp pleats in a paper fan, her fingers bent as a red king crab. Again and again she pushes the silk under the foot of a sewing machine until it flows on the other side sleek as an emerald waterfall. Outside, quiet river boats slip across… Continue reading Old Seamstress in Bangkok