Uneasy rambling
like treading water,
aquaphobic thrashing
in riptide relationships,
battered hulls adrift
in current events
calling for the maelstrom.
Somewhere, lightning lashes
its forked tongue and preys
on the oblivious,
landlocked behind iron doors,
supposed protection from our ravenous
imagined oceans.
Black tail rising,
tip of the iceberg,
ocean’s hammer.
I am hwael
hear me roar.
And the
thunder rolls.
I had told my children
how they had crawled
from a long sleep
and swarmed all over
with a constant call
that made everything
feel too close
but we only found one dying
while out walking the road
with the heat beating down
its legs moved slowly
as there was no noise left
I stood there and tried
to tell them that it would
have felt like
the world was ending
that there would be so many
no matter how much
we find them a nuisance
I was disappointed
that I could not share
this time capsule memory
with someone that I would love
until I found myself
void of any noise
and warmth
I am spring cleaning
In the heat of summer
Always a season behind
As I sort through
My things
And discard
All that doesn’t serve me
I discover
I hold on to
More than belongings
I hoard memories
I stow away ideas
I keep lines open
For no reason
But sentiment
Upon that realization
And the feeling
Of that faint line
That still connects us
That still gives you access
I blocked you
For years I arranged
the butterfly and stone frog
under just your name.
I sat on your side,
whisking away the earwigs,
and pulled up the weeds.
I shook the dust off
the season’s silk arrangement,
remembering YOU.
Ma-Ma might forgive,
but she would never forget-
still, she left flowers.
Festoons cascading
over the whole monument,
honoring you both.
One that sought to live,
another that chose to leave-
so many questions.
She is with you now,
My turn to purchase bouquets
for all of you here.
She would counsel me-
She would want her neighborhood
to have symmetry.
If David could lament Saul,
then maybe I can
put flowers on his side, too.
if murder is a crime
and my heart is on a line
does that make me a criminal?
if stealing is a crime
and my body isn’t mine
does that make me a criminal?
if running is a crime
and my thoughts bleed through time
does that make me a criminal?
you grasp onto the semblance of the recognizable
group into pods of the almost-accessible
seize onto what you pretend to know
and hope no one notices
you’re faking it.
brown edges of leaf break
under clear water, its
visual contortion
a harbinger among
detritus that stands
all around —
trees, distant smoke,
cans spilling from
recycle bins,
Amazon plastic adrift
across streets, adverts
in the grass,
jets on approach —
we sit, dip our fingers
down to scoop the leaf,
lift it away, and out,
turn our eyes back to
these scenes, all around,
knowing not
what we do
Its frequently heard that money cannot buy happiness,
That’s true to some extent,
But is also wrong,
Money buys therapy,
Money buys luxuries,
Money buys excitement,
Money buys healthy foods,
money buys medicine,
money buys longevity,
But even if you have the money to be happy,
If you don’t want to be happy it’s worthless,
The say money can’t buy happiness,
It’s true to some extent,
Money can open a path to happiness,
But you have to be willing to walk it
tangled fern fronds swim
clay pots adrift from ceiling
haint blue–humid, still
