the poetry section is a jumble of
paperbacks, anthologies, Chaucer
Elizabeth Bishop, Neruda, Donne
Dickinson, page after bent page
used books, leaning paper spines
the dead supporting each other
most of their words long forgotten
USA $29.95, once the price of wisdom
now two dollars, time erases money
and memories of Isla Negra
Amherst lilacs, and all the rest
Tag: Memory
Only These Four Words
only quiet these woods
bark green leaves, smell
of jasmine is everything
we wished for this
only ocean gray waters
sand sun toes touch
cold salt wet time
here on winter beach
only nature and words
my notebook of memories
we walked up mountain
your eyes forever sky
only everything, this air
we breathe in together
life, all of it
will go on forever
Baseball Cards
i’ve begun to hold you again
colorful cardboard portal
young men gripping bats
like no one ever ages
i used to take you for granted
trade you, shove you into
shoe boxes, stacking Tigers
and Orioles, reading statistic
after statistic, the only math
that ever made sense
now with gray hair, you are
mine again, behind plastic
i cradle delicate memory
this time around i know
nothing lasts forever
Mom Plays Evening Piano
she only played
mozart, on chickering
flat tusks, ebony
keys, her fingers
pressing sound into
air, while my
head on pillow
rested for sonata
slumber, this childhood
memory of time
gone by, as
if anything really
leaves this universe
empty spaces left
to be filled
again and again
Pet Goldfish
i suppose everyone
had a goldfish
from the pet
store or school
fair, glistening orange
in plastic bag
captured bit of
rippling nature, and
we tried to
keep it alive
with flakes and
water changes, but
after a few
months it died
and what did
we learn? how
to understand loss
that toilet flush
goodbye, what is
life? what is
death? it meant
nothing, and everything
Ciao San Francisco
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
After Reading Stanley Kunitz
what are memories?
a skipping stone
under layers of
silt, bottom of
this primordial riverbed
water rushing over
unaware that time
has passed, soon
all is forgotten
At 80 Years Old
If I wanted, every day could be a funeral.
So simple, just put a name into the computer,
wait for the obituary to pop up. Those older guys
are gone, my coaches, teachers, even that camp
counselor from Pine Island, up in Maine, he
could hold his breath underwater for 2 minutes.
Never thought they’d all go away, but there’s
the little candle, Legacy.com warming the screen
with another smiling photo. I read all the comments,
deeply miss her, sincere condolences, with such
a heavy heart. And I feel the weight of age with my
scrolling fingers, try to remember the last time I
saw him, her. What did we talk about? Maybe I’ll
google their kids, see where they ended up.
Minutes pass and I close the laptop,
pretend they’re all still alive.
Blue Bayou
I suppose it was
Roy Orbison first, for
me it was always
Linda Ronstadt, straight long
hair and bright album
cover smile, couldn’t imagine
her with a worried
mind, or lonesome all
the time, then again
I was only nine
Of Time and the Kite
when my daughter was young we flew a kite
from her wooden deck, bedroom balcony
she held the string, I watched wind
invisible thing
nearby leaves rustling, flapping
nylon snapping, waiting for release
to soar or sink, ever the question
on a day such as this
the two of us standing there wondering
what does it mean to fly away?
I let go, her twine wriggled through fingers
up and up it went
sun stopped for seconds
our fabric patch covering time
Daniel W. Polk 