billows of august
time is air
ripe yellow plums
dangle with juice
skin holds the weight
still summer moments
september is coming
but not yet
not yet
Be Here Now
Tag: Time
Death Of A Volvo
2011, my son was a year old, brand new family suv, you’ve seen it, know it, this is america, owning an suv is like brushing with crest, nothing special, just the passing of time, we only have so many cars, dogs, years, so here i am sitting in the carvana parking lot, check engine light on, brakes barely working, suspension in need of repair, surgery for someone else, time to say goodbye- to booster seats, school drop offs, oil changes, regular unleaded, sports radio, squeaky wipers, and all the rest, temporary rolling home, no more.
When The Hospice Bed Arrives
a metal bed frame rolls into the living room, & without wanting to, my mind goes there, are we the 20th room? the 200th? how much death has this bed frame held? the mattress starts to inflate, then i’m shown the oxygen machine, 7-foot plastic tube, with inserts for the nose, depending on the journey this might mix with morphine
the warriors play on the tv, microwave beeps, & the dogs eat their dinner, just another night at home waiting for the inevitable, passing of time, life leaving, of course there is much more, massaging of temples, feet, hands, kisses to cheeks, forehead, tears, lots of tears, for others it might be sudden, but our hospice bed slows it all down, minutes mean everything.
Sunset
ebbing light attracts us to the edge
of time, of earth, of day, of youth
the end of everything
the in-between, dusk, that word
a gateway into the unknown
we snap photos, pose with friends
try to capture something always lost
that we can never quite hold
Sonny Rollins Is Alive
when enough times passes
we begin to think they
are all dead
those jazz musicians
who cradled gold
instruments, lung life air
pulsating into
penetrating through everything
with their reverberating
notes of truth
it all ends
but his saxophone sound
is still here
and perhaps
will be
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
Magnus Carlsen
thinking always about chess
like words gliding through
space and time, these
pieces of royal motion
an endless game of poetry
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
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
Mount Tamalpais
we talk about life
stumbling upward toward East
Peak, the fog slowly
disappearing into blue sky
day on this mountain
where we remember thirty
that age when last
here, ascending together as
if time remains still
but no, five kids
between us, balding heads
failing vision, and all
the rest of middle
age, to think in
another fourteen we will
be sixty, how long
will the mountain remain
ours, before it nudges
us off fire roads, away
from crow filled branches
we look down on
Lake Lagunitas, that water
holding minutes like a
Jim Croce song that
lasts forever, then stops
Daniel W. Polk 