Cottonwood tree stands
head and shoulders above All
romancing the clouds.
Category: Poems
Little Chef
Young woman in a wheelchair, a little white dog
reminiscent of my Henry tethered along beside.
A service dog she trained herself to fetch things
for her and do whatever else perhaps open
the blinds in the morning close them at night
do the laundry maybe even the dishes maybe
cook up an omelet now and then or pancakes
flipping them one by one onto a blue plate.
I could picture my Henry doing so oh yes
and wearing a chef’s hat too standing on a
stool by the stove his bright adoring eyes
watching over all.
Painting the Sunrise
So now there is a woman with a brain tumor
who ever after paints the sunrise every every day
up before dawn to paint the sunrise for whatever reason
this thing in her brain has wrought this change and
changed her life’s direction to record this small
beginning the relentless never flagging sun waking
the sleeping world day after day and she along with it
painting and painting again and painting again.
A Boy Named X
The art-loving boy called X (for Xavier)
nine years old, glasses, wheatstraw hair,
came by again and again to chat
speaking each time of his father but
where was the mother I wanted to know
(dreaded to know) of whom no word
was ever spoken. One couldn’t escape
noticing his liking to chat with a
motherly old soul and perfect stranger.
One had to wonder. One hoped
for the best noting that he did seem
a happy boy, a self-directed boy,
affable, good head on two shoulders.
One hoped. One wanted so much already
for the likable, sweet, art-loving nine years old
boy who went by the name of X.
Hello
You are receiving she said
my friend who knows things and I
do feel that wisps of things float
about wanting to be welcomed
and if so do drift down and settle
and that of late bits and tufts have
sifted through my open window
of late I say and it seems a revelation
to have it put in three words that way
and so I vow further to keep my
windows open to whatever might
want to drop by and say hello.
People
The thing is this: a person sitting at a table
eating a peach maybe a small bowl of rice
various thoughts and ideas traveling through her brain
suddenly realizes that every other person
too has a brain occupied in more or less
the same way the difference being that
whatever riffles through one remains
shuttered up unbudging in another or
yet becomes tangled in a sort of chaos
in still an Other and so on differing
to the point of mystery
so that each to the other is only
a map of a territory at best
which gives no indication of
what the houses there are like
who lives in them
what they’ve planted in their yards
how narrow or wide their streets are
and whether or not their loved children
are safe to play and wander as they’d like.
More Delight
A glass of grace sits before me
cardinal on the branch
morning’s cool breath
sunlight dappling the leaves
and I do believe that if I
drink up the crisp cold sparkle of it
gratefully however wantonly
my glass will be filled again and again
and yet again the trick being that
the more delight I accept
the more will be given.
The Other
Some Other rushes
to greet this day with aplomb.
My energy flags.
Jumping
The other night I woke to my two dogs
barking incessantly from the foot of my bed
the catalyst a large white-tailed deer
standing at the corner of the yard
clearly debating what to do about
all the fences everywhichwhere
among the yards on my street.
What to do where to go what to do
which way to jump whether to jump at all.
I too am unsure what to do where to go
how to get there once I figure it all out
fences of another kind blocking.
But unlike that deer I have
short legs and am not much
of a one for jumping.
Logic
Unattainable
therefore more desirable
than is logical.