walking for ice cream in the cool of early evening
after a steel drum concert on the village square
proud old builidngs and ruined buildings
cracked sidewalks
peeling paint
potted plants escaping thier borders
vacant lots of rubble
the rebuilt courhouse, burned twice now
newly painted
the crisp blue sky, the early moon
murmered secrets of a town we weren’t born in
a blond boy pedals by
arms clasped over his chest
his face fierce
Do you recall the evening we broke through? We’d worked together for weeks and weeks, fighting the awkwardness of what we were trying. Our feet behaved like three-year olds, intent on setting their own rules. You seemed comfortable first, a few days before I outran my fear of the steps and just let my body take charge. Even past those barricades, we neither one danced that well alone, or with another partner. But together. Oh, cara mia. Together.
At the beginning of our practice
the instructor reads a poem by Mary Oliver.
After a day of sitting at desks, we close our eyes
and imagine the sun melting into the horizon.
We surrender the day’s worries to the hum of her voice.
Rain slashes the star magnolia outside the glass walls,
but inside the room we relax into our stillness.
In each posture we create space within ourselves.
We do sun salutations with integrity,
sweeping up and stetching, like we mean it.
She invites each of us to make an intention.
During shavasana, she rereads the poem, slowly.
We return to our starting posture,
bow to the spirit in each other,
roll up the mats, leave the housekeeper a tip,
and float out into the day.
Nature reminds us that we’re all falling
Like the water from stalactites
Conjoined in a running stream
To dry up or build the biggest pools.
Fools are those who yell in caves,
Disturbing fresh peace
Asking for a rock to the head.
Water moves mud,
Stale dirt is as good as dead.
Erosion forms our worlds,
Boys and girls try to keep their feet dry
Swimming in what they don’t even know.
Justice is gold,
When the worlds not so clean.
I believe I’m a man,
But what’s that even mean.
they had an agreement to never evacuate
upstream from their shared habitation
to conduct any tawdry business
in distant jurisdictions
and hunt as far afield as possible
from their home territory
they remained together quite happily
so long as both could travel
but as their circles tightened
over time, with age and infirmity
they obstinately fouled the nest
and sat defiant in mutual excrement
What I Remember of the Honeymoon
Lying on the cold bathroom floor
putting in the diaphragm
taking my time with it
knowing he’s in there waiting.
After a while, his voice
everything ok?
Asking if we can stop for coffee
on the way to the motel
knowing this will delay–
he, acquiescing
wanting to be gentle.
As we leave the reception,
my mother kissing him on the temple
calling him “my son”.
He pleased at this welcome.
Long hours of driving
alone with the thoughts in my head.
Who knows where he was.
He buying postcards to send to his grandfather,
my deciding I was going on to my new life
adult and independent.
The revelation of fresh orange juice
on a winter-starved tongue.
Poem 17, June 17
Chester Johnson, Poem Nine
So you asked what a flagship is.
The USS Iowa was a fast ship,
a fast battleship.
It was heavily armed
and the lead ship in the Pacific
Theater of War.
When Vice Admiral Willis A. Lee,
or another Admiral was on board,
we raised a special flag.
When the Admiral’s flag flew,
the USS Iowa was a flagship.
It wasn’t complicated.
The Iowa flew
Admiral Bull Halsey’s flag,
for the Japanese surrender ceremony.
elvis and jesus
sleeping on a park bench
they look alike
hair long unwashed slicked back
blankets stolen from shelters
elvis and jesus
murdered by a gunman
hated them because
their love made his heart beat wild
he saw rainbows in his dreams
