i could try to put
all the words back together
months and years of poems
those fragments, pieces of bone
structure of love, my body
of work, endless expression
of our boundless truth
when we were both
younger, before
but now
only this
Tag: Youth
12/13: Poetry Reading in Burlingame, California
Moody Blues & An Old Flame
i wonder where you are, i wonder if you think about me, once upon a time in your wildest dreams, moody blues 1986, he sent her the song on a cassette in the mail, like a message in a bottle, old & scraped, washed up, on her shore, no one listens to the moody blues anymore, she replied on a postcard, but thanks, 10 years had passed, he never wrote her again
Camp Counselors At Night
2am and even the mosquitoes are sleeping, but we are still up, campers slumbering in bunk bed cabins with wet towels hanging from wooden pegs, luna moths circling bathroom lights in the distance, the talk goes on and on, 17 year-olds under summer stars in virginia countryside night, sitting on wooden picnic tables, flirting with time and each other, we’ve hit that moment where words don’t matter anymore, just eyes twinkling in the quiet dark surrounded by trees, warm july breeze, daylight will arrive, but not yet, not yet.
Selling Cameras, 1991
survey the merchandise, canon, pentax, nikon, kodak, know the prices, how many dollars to preserve memories? tell the customers about zoom lens, color quality, shutter speed, sell them one by one, talk spanish sometimes, if they are from el salvador, remember the war, they fled that war, try to remember, speak with co-workers, allen, who rides a bike because he lost his license, yusuf, from pakistan, college-educated, has a family, wants to move up to selling televisions, shift from foot to foot, 12 hours standing, 9am to 9pm, too long, scribble scenes for a play when no one is watching, quit before prom, but don’t forget evans department store
George Winston: 1949-2023
when i heard that George Winston died, i realized i had no one to tell, no one who would really understand how he transformed piano notes into snow, into darkened pine trees, into music of the winter solstice. transcendent, like time immemorial, i can still see my seventeen year-old self, not making a sound, just listening to Winston, that quiet focus, he taught me to be still, appreciate all that is.
Embarrassing Moment, July 1987
Summer asphalt, I feel it against my cheek, warm with embarrassment and sun’s absorption, after toe snags into pothole and I tumble face first into the road’s crosswalk. This, while holding two Slurpees in July, neither spills, miracle of frozen blue sugar ice. Honking cars and trucks applaud, recognizing my brief journey from sky to ground, entertainment while waiting for red to turn to green. I rise slowly, take a small bow, try to grin, clutch the drinks and walk again.
Early Twenties
Dorm Hallway Phone
it rings and rings, that
sound now fabricated for
flat screened rectangles in
jean pockets, or purses
back then you had to jump
off the bunk bed, sprint
down the hallway hoping
whoever was calling would be
desperate enough to let it ring
8 times, 12 times, so important
that someone, anyone answer
because it could be a girlfriend
or boyfriend, or heaven forbid
a parent calling about a pet
dog who was put to sleep
then tears in front of all
the other dormers in Foss Hall
and to think this happened
maybe twice a day, the phone rang
twice a day, or maybe three times
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
Daniel W. Polk 