Posts for June 27, 2020 (page 7)

Morning should bring renewal.
Well-rested eyes opening at their leisure
But the baby is hungry
And the trash truck came early
A tree limb hits the lawn
No rest for the weary.

Morning should allow for quiet reflection.
Observing the sunrise, a feasting bunny, and the opening of tender blooms
But the world has returned to work
With heavy machinery moving metal plates and slinging rocks
Trains shouting their arrival 
Grime and exhaust hanging heavy in the air.

Morning should offer solace and hope
A strong cup of coffee, the fresh scent of dawn
But the neighbor has moved away 
And pesticide flies on the breeze
Grab the babies; bar the doors
Send judgemental glares out the side window

Morning should be a great many things 
But even morning can have an off day. 

What are the odds 
that I would pick up my phone
and you would be on the other end
a week after I decided
to let my heart open
to be filled with the wonder of the world?

And what are the odds
that you would know what I needed
like you always did
and that it would be
you?

Did the serpent tempt Eve,
Or did Eve tempt the serpent?

Will the meek inherit the earth,
Or will the earth inherit the meek?

Did Columbus discover the New World,
Or did the New World discover Columbus?

Did George Washington chop down the cherry tree,
Or did–no, that one doesn’t work.

Do we remember the Alamo,
Or does the Alamo remember us?

Did Walter Cronkite anchor the news,
Or did the news anchor Walter Cronkite?

Are the blind leading the blind,
Or is it the other way around?

Am I asking for a friend,
Or is a friend asking for me?

He steps out of a climate-controlled truck,
Determined to converse — that’s fine, 
I’m not busy or anything. 

“God it’s hot in here.”
Yup. 
“Well is the money alright?” 
I’ve worked harder for less. 
“Your generation doesn’t even know what work is.”
Guess not. 

I attempt my escape but the 
Mailman has made himself quite comfy;
He is leaning on the pallet 
Jack and I am anchored by etiquette. 
He continues his relentless barrage: 

“Yeah I’ll retire in a few years and live off the 
Property I’m renting.”
Ah, you’re a landlord.

Well, man, we’re understaffed on a
Good day and today ain’t one 
So I’d better get back to it. 

I check my bank account again, 
One can never be too safe. 
After all,

Rent is due.   

I found her old diary
charting the confusion,
the loss, her baby brother
missing in action.
This was not supposed to happen,
of course. He was too young,
too handsome, too filled with promise.
She said rosaries, lit candles,
but the waiting sucked 
any life from her.
She slept-walked through the days
too numb to care 
about anything else.

low grey clouds,
pulled down from the Great Blue,
press upon the passing buffalo
and the young warrior.

the cool rain, biting his skin,
the bow in his hand,
fitted with a small arrow–
enough to anger the beast, so that it might run, pushing the others
toward the high cliff,
where his father waited,
watching to see if his son was ready for the hunt.

the boy thought of his mother,
of what she would think of him
—the man, eager for the kill,
the boy, dreaming of bright stars that speak secrets in the night—

father had taught him an ancient Apache word,
little more than air,
the word he must speak
when he loosed his arrow.

the boy drew back the string,
took careful aim,
pulled in air,
fought tears–
breathed the word.

in the dark dusty closet
a shoebox with 90’s photos
outside afternoon rain
sheets the windows
and you shuffle through
the first marriage, the first house,
potlucks, denim jumpers, navy flats,
your plastered smile  

you rocket back
to these moments
when every morning
was a contract you’d signed
and ‘make do’
was the needlepoint halo
on your head 

the photos in old orangy grain
the backgrounds, treasures
you once loved
hot glue decoupage crafts
pictures hanging above iron bed frames,
green cups and saucers on a shelf,
a silver tinseled tree,
a scarf tied around a lamp shade
you once thought so pretty
your young face, blistered
with shoulds and musts

How can you advise the young
to know more than they should
as early as they can
to avoid the kind of life
that requires throwing away
all the photos
from the first half of it?

2000 miles I would swim or crawl
if 2000 miles were all, between.
Distance is a trifle thing.
To go home, I would also need
a time machine, unravel tangled
history, interrupt chronology,
offer long apology for errors
I would most likely make again.
Along this odyssey I sail, greed
or malice have not haunted me,
nor lust of power or envy,
only certainty of love has been
my sin. I have been rash
and unsatisfied, also scared
to hide behind the costume
of the customs of my culture
and my kin. Then you came
close to understanding me.
Saw me from underneath
deep leagues, looked up
from the sea of Psyche,
as if to be my oldest memory.
Over the rail I lean, to see,
but all too quickly fades
into the waves, your beauty
and your gaze.

Millenials do stuff.
They book
their next trip while traveling
to the airport.

Boomers reflect on stuff.
They take notes
instead of going to the gym.
Their bank accounts lie dormant.
Grave plots loom.

I used to let fear govern my life,
I stayed indoors out of fear of being judged,
I didn’t speak because I was terrified of being yelled at,
I wanted to go on walks but feared what people would think,
Fear kept me anchored,
Then a little bunny entered my life,
The bunny calmed me when I was stressed,
Comforted when I was scared,
Slowly all those fears started to become meaningless,
Slowly I started to become more adventurous and talkative,
I used to be a creature governed by fear,
Someone half emerged from a cocoon,
Desperately wanting to fly,
Now I have spread my wings and soar across the sky,
Fear no longer shackles me to the ground I was once trapped on,
Sometimes all we need to become butterflies is a little help from someone we love,
For me that came in the form of a bunny