Sober
Beware.
You aren’t in heaven.
You’ve been deceived.
Blinded by the empty promise of the serpent.
Come morning,
Everything will be okay.
You’ll be sober and saved.
The damnations of the night before, washed away.
Mantle clock inherited along with the history
sits too high on the shelf to reach
came to life from the vibration of thunder
that started it’s heart again.
It ran for week without problems
calling out the hours until the chimes ran down
while keeping perfect time
the announcement of hours became a dull DUNK
where it had been a commanding DUNG.
From empathy I climbed to rewind it
the hours and hour chimes now out of sync
like my perception and reality has always been
believing that there is impartiality dispensing justice.
Using the logic subscription bought and paid for
the clock was returned to synchronous harmony
like when there is a chance
to hug all my children at once.
The mechanical marvel
surviving and functioning more than a 100 years
outlasting all previous owners
sits on high as a neutral observer
to be a witness
to the next life that winds down
to a DUNK as time clicks by.
buckled body, bend doubled
with hands wine red
grasping, reaching, gnawing
from feet away,
causing the contortion,
with inevitable gravity
on your side, your
dead weight refocused,
hell-bent on possession
of this unassuming, plain,
light linen fabric
of us
on which I, too, have a hand
standing still with worried sigh
for I simply want a little
to cover us
both
while obstinant hue and cry
emanates from your maw,
your vector, your spectacle,
clamoring that I’m
ripping it
Roots are the
first worry of a
newly sprouted
seed; they burrow
deep into the soil to
collect nourishment
for the branches.
Deep roots tug
at us. They can
hold us steady
through life’s
storms, but they
can also upend
and cast soil across
the paths we think
we’ve paved: There’s
this hollow notion we
can control everything,
but the truth is some
of us are just lucky.
I see the novena in your eyes
for children abandoned in the dark
your hands cupped round the candle
lest a puff of indifference blow it out
your sensitivity cowers in alleyways
where dreams are sepia-toned
believing no one cares to visit
the country where you live
and afraid that someone will
A red piano waits to carry her
on notes we cannot hear; a red boat
is moored at world’s edge
like a patient pony. She will dance
to the threshold, draped in lace;
she will step into the green wave
where the sun sets. Her head turns
to the luminous door, to the view
beyond the open window.
I carried you beneath my heart
I carried you when you cried
I carried you when you were tired
I nursed you at my breast
I drove you to school
I drove you to viola lessons
I drove you to your first date
I held your hand as you took your first steps
I watched you play in concert halls
I watched you argue in courtrooms
I watched you embrace friends at camp
I caught you when leapt into the water
You walk into your new life without a backward glance
My heart crying out that my parenting is still a work in progress
My grocery list seems
sliced by the plane’s wing
A thick haze settled over the mountain.
This dusty volume has contained
the same story for decades.
There’s a time when dusty
things are no longer useful;
The coins clinking into the gas lamp night after night.
Please tell the jackrabbits my story-
how we all evaded Coyote-
even the roadrunner,
who stayed to tell a few more jokes,
turned up his coat tails;
And the tiny cottontails
joined the cottonwoods and cattails
to float like fluff on the breeze.
The Raven children were here, too
In their shiniest clothes;
the number four constantly repeating itself.
Security, stability, relationships-
We’re inside the looking glass,
but will we recognize ourselves?
Or will the wind blow us all away?
Inside every story is the same story.
In the sticks
where you can’t get
cable & internet is unreliable
it’s natural–inevitable–to turn
to AM radio when you are bored
& want action. Today
you find a call-in show
for selling tractors, pigs,
rabbits, gravel & you consider
buying a scoop of Chattanooga
Brown gravel, or a Red
Heeler pup. You switch
the dial to Bluegrass Sunrise
on WBLU where old-timey
twang blasts with high
harmonies & runaway
mandolin. Are you lonely? Do you
want to go home? Why are you so
alone?, the lead singer
belts. I can’t answer. I’ve roamed
city & farm, decades
here & there, with a restlessness,
a twirling mind like a shiny
baton. No matter, an inner
voice hums. Breathe slow. Watch
wavy fields change, wait
for the hay harvest, for a pair
of birches naked in the snow.
