Posts for June 29, 2023 (page 9)

His black leather shoes
beside his chair, newly reheeled,
insides warm, too large for me to fill 
— that old cliche — him snoring, 
two vodka tonics in, 
fleck of heavy casserole on his chin,
something on the console TV,
Bonanza or Lost In Space.

He never shared his dreams,
what he wanted to be
before life got in the way,
what would be the point
except to create waves.
The closest he came
was at the air museum
when he lingered by the fighter jets, 
how he touched their silver skin. 

One time my brothers and I 
recorded him snoring 
and played it back,
volume cranked,
mocking, teasing mercilessly:

the chair still sags 
from the weight of him.

Each year the table tilts a little more
Amd things roll off it to the floor

My health, my kicks, my energy
My body’s pain free functionality

All down there rolling around
With the dust, on the carpet, on the ground

Inaccessible to me, unavailable
Rolling off the tilted terrible table

What I still have is my memory
Or is that the group soul speaking, just a story

But some pieces of my memory are jagged
They won’t roll off if they’re jaded and ragged

They cling tenaciously, I have that at least
And my window

On the southwest corner of my house
The view west toward the lakes
And the endless prairies
It buffets the storms
In its rattly and leaky way
And shows the passing seasons
The nights, the days and my gardens

It’s what I have left and available
And the fragments on the tilted table

Amazing thing. Every summer
an ancient mariner,
the shimmering Atlantic, crawls ashore, covers sand
and returns to sea, 
emerges and scrambles – beginning a long and dangerous journey.

Go to the window.
It isn’t raining now,
but it surely will.

Wait, and things will grow
beyond even your dreams
and wakeful imaginings.

For now, take the landscape
as proper for this moment,
as preparation for later.

The night unwinds.  And I’m alone.
Below, shadows like rabbits
slip from holes at the terminus
of lines of sunken dirt
to play.

                                                                        I sit with a cold can
                    in my hand, wondering if they, too, smell smoke
                    where there is no fire
within sight.

                                                            How do you say goodnight
                                                                 without an ear to hear?

You close your eyes and breathe the spectral scent
of her, lifted—phantom wisps—from your clothes.

You feel the black-silk-press of her mouth against
yours, still lingering.  Still lingering.

You taste the sharp, sweet remnant of her—
brush of fingertip, scratch of nail—
like a rune drawn across your lips.

The Night unwinds—the day withdrawing
without a word—

                                                              so many things far away;
                                                          so many things left undone.

But the night yet unwinds,
whispering, 
                      whispering,

                                                                              some things burn
                                                                                     without sight.

it’s called Tater Knob
hand-thrown pottery for sale
drive 10 miles turn left
where Blue Lick turns to gravel
family run, cells don’t work 

There’d been the best choice to stack their toys,
teach them well
to arrange all in happier groups, families,

and play with trifles and treasures instead of 
electronics, ever making pat excuses
screens would ready them for the future;

instead my babies howled as never expected
the day I swept and hauled
every toy and block away. I was screaming, 

furious, and frothing that she was going
to leave it, making me do it
since I complained to her for so long.

This is one of my greatest sorrows in life.
I threw away the bricks.
My son never built his cathedral.

you wondered into a forest without concern and no thought of return,

yugen

you laughed at a joke and didn’t define why,

yugen

you went nowhere into pregnant space and didn’t know what would become of it,

yugen

you held a leaf from last fall and looked at the one still hanging on a tree so tall,

yugen

you looked at a whirlpool and realized no water permanently staying in,

yugen

you watched the beautiful stranger pass by and wondered if they’d ever see you again,

yugen

pain eased from acetaminophen as you watch the minnow swim and it floats away after a spin,

yugen 

Illustrious there atop the wall
the Eggs Supreme risk crack.
They’ve no ethics rail to hinder fall
and temptation’s rife atop the wall.
With no guard in place to impede a fall,
some Eggs Supreme exploit the lack,
traduce their seats atop the wall,
deal Court of Eggs Supreme a crack.