the mirrors have never given her
a kinder report. she knows well
her lonesomeness, pertinent for this
moment and unknown for its depth.
it is an ivory flattery to see herself
in this light, at every angle. it is
one certainty preceding the rest.
I store the Infinite inside me
in the space behind my heart
Like a skein of silk,
it unspools out and out
until I am empty and
Time falls away
condensing to Now
when there is only
the baby I bathe
a fiddle lilting through humid twilight air
three hawks soaring on thermals high above three graves
Marc’s three Red Horses dancing on a museum wall
lakewater surging on a sailboat’s high side
a press of slick bodies chorusing near a stage
the thrum of snow-packed tires on a cattle guard
or
a red meteor shooting west in the northern sky
until Time moves again
and the spool gathers in the moment
in a blink
I savor these blisses
swirling like galaxies behind my breasts
on mornings on the threshold of waking
I save these blisses
for a morning when I wake with my vision dimmed
so the spool can run out and out and out
emptying me
until Time falls away
The taste of summer makes me
drunk when I feel sober
as I stumble into open skies,
unlock my mind to gain some closure.
Friend, do you remember
when the only thing asked of us
was to keep our breath at home.
Even then we were divided—
those who saved the world
by holding ourselves distant from it;
those who stocked the shelves
that kept the rest of us alive
and hauled away our excess
in their beeping, stinking trucks.
No matter how little we thought we had,
friend, it was always too much.
On a dry riverbed—
earnestly or insincerely?—
wondering if rocks miss the water,
thinking first “their” water
then revising it
out of conviction
nothing is really owned.
Anything with a mouth can bite you.
The Nature Center employee states
what we ourselves have intuited.
I got a tick and some flint.
I removed some flint and a tick.
Flint as nature’s jawbreaker.
Shell within a shell.
My phone suggests I am a carrot
and yet we still go to it for answers.
By design, I’ve been waiting
to post my next poem after a
special visit from corporate.
They still are not here:
I’m running out of time on this shift,
and I’ve got better camping to do.
The Hatchet
I want to live
with Grandfather’s
hatchet in my hand
and his hat on my head
riding on a sled
pulled by two old horses.
They know the way
to the back field.
And,
they don’t mind
the load they bear.
They carried it for him
all those years ago.
I could walk beside
the sled like he did
wade through briars
and Clover
see fish jumping
in the scum covered pond.
Then I could find the place
where the cows got out
that day.
That’s where I’d find him
laying in the grass
looking at the sky
and grinning.
He’d stand up
take his hat
scruff my head
and say,
“Come on, Buffalo,
wait ‘til you see this.”
Tony Sexton
Heavily guarded
recessed in the dark
behind a secret panel
inside a steel box
suspended in hell
a locked away cache
of bloody clothes bides
forever dripping gore
of great personal assaults
of being caught in crossfire
of giving first aid to others
entombed and indestructible
brutality buried yet
persistent specters stalk
their prey in the night
Look back
don’t stare
The Cooking Badge.
Low on my list.
Girl Scout recipe book.
Easy Peasy.
Reluctant dinner guests.
Mom. Dad. Sister.
Hot dogs wrapped in bacon then a crescent roll.
Set the table.
Plates. Napkins. Drinks.
Serve on a large platter.
Two servings each.
Obligatory mom comment.
‘These are really go………’
Hands to neck.
Universal choking signal.
Obligatory dad laughter.
Turns to mild concern.
Fingers down throat.
Gagging. Gagging. Gagging.
Long piece of raw bacon.
Color returns to face.
Baloney sandwiches.
Two badges in one night.
Cooking.
First Aid.
Nailed it.
once i caught a glimpse of you through two cracked doors i was pulling the waistband of your pants up my thighs;
you were still naked and i felt like i really saw you.
you came back to bed i always slept on the inside i curled my body around you laced my thighs through yours;
the bed might have been broken but i can only remember how warm you were.
it’s not fair that i never let you into my bed i squeezed my eyes shut i was so unsure too and never said a thing;
sometimes i think i’m the one who should apologize to you.
i wanted you to want me so much that i forgot half of the time i didn’t even want you
