is worried about the economy
and about the virus and
how the two are connected
about cruise ships that
sail sick people in their midst
and so, day after day
men in suits, women with lipstick
grin or frown into cameras, on
screens, talk about stocks
descending, and this goes on
and on, day after day, as we
watch quarantines, death counts
following along, witnessing
global pandemic with a smile
and a grimace
i found myself remembering
all the other feeble days
when time stood still, when
a single room, a single bed
was everything. Between
shivers and coughs, the
twilight space, sickness,
where body and mind journey
in dreams, but go nowhere.
This suffering carries with it
the magic of surrendering
to forces that determine
temperature and strength,
outside of human will and
control. And when this lasts
for night after night, a voice
calls out, don’t fight, don’t fight.
And when we give in
life always begins again.
we used to race caterpillars
up old oak trees, caterpillar
jockeys we were, holding our
sticks, prodding the slow
legged insects to move skyward
sometimes they listened to us
yelling their new names
come on Stripey, faster Laser
tickling bark, up they went or
they’d stop, no telling how it would
end, because the bell always rang
recess done, but they’d keep
climbing higher and higher, or
we imagined they did, ignoring
grammar, staring out windows
gazing to the tallest branches
baby butterflies, blue sky
glistening grass with morning
dew, like a spider web
pulsating, wind whipping, sticky
threads catch life, then
death, how nature works
constant miracles, colors, petals
insects submerged in nectar
pollen dust travels, floating
on bees feet, sun
greets this day with
warmth for all, moon
at night, bright dreams
silent stars, flickering light
when i think of all the times
i’ve caught the soap in the
shower, i wonder if i could
trade this for immortality or
winning the lottery or another
miracle beyond slick clumsy
fingers losing a fragrant
rectangle, only to somehow
cradle it again, like a touchdown
this, while contemplating whether
it is just me who performs sudsy
magic, there must be others who
exhaust all their luck behind
foggy plexiglass, others who silently
celebrate the meaningless and divine
I pause when
light looks like
heaven might
evanescent glow
white tufts, airy clouds
barely covering sun
I stand in awe
shifting sky
gazing upwards at
all we can’t know
alive, this moment
perhaps forever
fuji, granny smith
red delicious, original
ornaments before christmas
was christmas, stems
like umbilical cords
dangling juice bulbs
filled with tree
strength inside
each one sways
growing seeds
bark, trunk
roots, sacred
dirt, water, all of
life between teeth
while chewing
this earth
black friday
pop up ads
vanity fair
folded perfume
possess, covet
objects of pride
I’m better than you
insistence that
moneyed hierarchy
is the answer
will solve
all woes
sorry, not sorry
to say, this
accumulating life
is wasting time
on things (and
you’ve heard this
before), stuff won’t
make you happy
but instead, yes
love, it is
so simple
also free
and when the time
comes, the sentence will
appear already begun, as
if words were writing
themselves, this is how
the subconscious works
creating narratives that are
never heard, only thought
until someone tries to
put it all in print, and
then what happens? so
tricky to harness the
stream, all this like a
dream become understood
or forever a mystery
Mary Oliver writes of
flowers and she does it
very well, as I just stare
at words, wishing that
goldenrod could mean
as much to me, stuck in
this urban world, nature
on the fringe, everything
I cannot see, because in
the car I move too fast
to even smell the air,
but excuses will never
win, nor are they really
true, so I keep on writing,
this much I know to do
