24 years later i left
without a sound, wearing a
mask like I’d robbed the place
no longer the 23-year old
point reyes camping in the rain
studio-living kid applying to
grad school while dancing at
the elbo room, time has
passed, but that city of hills
dwells forever inside me
yes, it will always have my
heart, but just like everything
we had to part
many years
ago i
cooked rabbit
really rabbits
for there
were two
that i
cut with
my chef’s
knife to
separate meat
from bone
and while
this happened
i whisphered
i’m sorry
your lives
had meaning
we will
eat all
of you
and we
did, but
i was
still sad
bunk beds stacked, thin mattresses
on steel spring decks, this cloistered
container, dorm room coffin where
20-year old boy-men play loud music
ska, reggae, rap, sometimes Phish
trapped inside institutional time
grab sleeping bag, late April night
up fir tree trail to quiet hilltop where
moths float over darken meadow
endless bedroom, alone for slumber
only melodic harp sounds
through iphone earbuds, this
mixed with running water
and soap, my evening
meditation, where grease and
life dissolve in smooth
towel strokes, most nights
i can feel heart
breathing inside, as fingers
cradle cups, plates, pans
i imagine each one
a delicate life, serving
the world, this humble
sink servant, these nothing
moments of pure peace
Daniel W. Polk 