i like your face little bird,
you are so damned cute
god should be reprimanded.
and you were sitting pretty
on a short cherry wood staircase
playing a guitar, and
the steps were an oiled, pine scented
sheen, not a bit of dust, polished clean,
like the heart i’d have saved for you forever.
it doesn’t matter that i don’t remember
the songs you played, i didn’t know you
and i would have run away with you then.
Challenged by Covid-19,
the specter of economic disaster,
and the recognition that we are
a nation steeped with injustice,
we gather, a community of poets,
to employ the power of words
to witness, engage, change and heal.
you can’t appreciate your balance
until someting beyond your control
causes you to lose your senses
makes you think those creek rock
will give you a moment of steadiness
to compose
to ready
but what you fail to see is that you were falling
long before you followed her into the water
To kill cowardice,
to slay hesitation with pen in hand,
to dismantle self-censorship,
to write a poem worth reading,
to use line breaks pro
perly,
to learn discipline,
to make art unapologetically,
even to yourself,
to say hello to every cat you meet,
whether they understand you or not,
to venture away from what’s comfortable,
to reacquaint with old friends,
to greet rain with a smile,
to see life in color again.
Well, kid, this is a start.
