never forgotten
old friend
too long, welcome back
for the better
life hasn’t always been kind
but it’s good to hear
some things don’t change
in the sound of your voice
future plans
life renewed
it’s nice to have you
back on the same path
long goodbyes
now long hellos
little piece of my family
coming home
If the humid nights dust the evening
Kentucky sky purple, how many years
will you continue to do the same thing?
Show your work in days
and, using your calipers, measure
the exact heaviness.
How many times from a young age
did you hold your words. Well? Badly?
If the number is not imaginary
how many words would it take
until you explain anything
about your life?
raised in supplication, or perhaps farewell, out beyond the breakers. Your long fingers needed taking but were so far away. Later, walking the drying rocks at low tide, I found you curled in impossible mountain flowers, like a lover in the last, best embrace available. There was nothing I could have done except to wave back, and that would never be enough. Had there been a way to hold you, release you from the ropes you contested, something else would have waited on the next wave and the next. We both knew that but will never believe.
The rectangular kingdom of our sandbox
is where I waged afternoon battles
through makeshift dunes and the bogs
of the wet dirt below – soldiers fell
and tanks capsized. It felt safe…
until that day my oldest brother
came home from school to kid-sit
when my mother took the baby to the doctor.
A 7th grader, my brother was my protector.
I’d skipped around to the front of the house
to jump into the giant pile of leaves
that he’d raked up to take to the burn-pit
when the neighborhood truant, Leon Jackson,
walked into our yard and sucker punched
my brother in the nose. I shivered at the bright
red blood pouring down into the brown leaves,
my defenseless brother running into the kitchen
for an ice pack, and Leon sauntering on down
Jones Street like the Duke of Paduke.
I hung my head and went back around
to the sandbox and put my battalions
into their cookie tin.
a severe thunderstorm
watch when you have
to mow the yard
for the party Friday
and the tomatoes
need staking and the
curtains need hung and
the recycling is late
and the Amazon
delivery just made
more trash and who
knows what kind of mess
will be left after
this storm if it ever
comes if there
ever was a storm
Avocado
spends the days
obsessively
tracking the latest
trends.
Strawberry
is too honest
with an exoskeleton
that tells no lies.
Kiwi
is no more than a baby,
continually
being spoon fed.
Grape
cannot deal with
confrontation,
as thin skin
wrinkles
under the couch.
Banana
is bruised
by the hands
of others,
and at the center
of
sexual exploitation.
These fruits are rotting
in a way that cannot
be cleaned
with water.
stilled, two images
The madman has such a radiant smile
He’s eager to squeeze any soft throat
See, you cannot make a sound
When I press here
The forest night bird chirps in the city
Could be the little people, misfortune, death
The ambulance and helicopter chatter
Wild things are a scatter returning home
Chiseling the age off a relic
Chafing knuckles to bloody weeping scuffs
Deconstructing the new construct
Priming the body for new paint
The flakes fill the trash can like a ditch
Overflowing with candy wrappers and bottles
Haven’t you had enough?
Isn’t this sufficient entertainment?
After sunset it is all black and white
The choice is this or that
Suspense is a bright room overrun by shadows
The mystery is known. We are just waiting
For the final credits
For the uncovered evidence
For order to be rightfully restored
For the wound to finally heal
