Moment #12
Britches pinned to shirt.
Proportionality off,
Pants (ideally) on.
The basswood hosts a congress of snouts
and does not ask who sent them.
It simply is —
leaf, bark, nectar, frass —
a trembling where wings arrange themselves
into the shape of summer’s next desire.
You don’t need to know
what’s on your mind.
You just need to let it light,
briefly,
in the shade.
labor-intensive process plowed the land sowed seed bed, transplanted shoots endless weeding topped the blooms removed worms watched the weather the whole family cut the crop bring it to a barn for curing, then strip stalks. If weather held if prices were high bills paid income saved. too often the reverse occurred suffering resulted. a plant that held the state hostage
A New History of Kentucky
Lowell H. Harrison 1997
The Courtesy of the Blind
after Wislawa Symborska
All light has faded from your world
Touch and love of shape now foreground
My hair, my hands, the Peter Rabbit pop-up book
This contemporary furniture exhibit
Is not open to the third eye of your fingertips
You consent to narration and a wheelchair
Leaning down, I speak to your faded hearing
I know what you need to know
Sketch the curve of this chair into your palm
How gorgeous! you cry out
Oh! Oh! when you learn the materials
The mix of woods, that iron frame juxtaposed!
You ask the designer and how it was constructed
I reach for anything I can Linda you say
Thank you, this is fabulous. No one could do this like you.
Of course Mom, you taught me how to see
Relationships are like recipes
Only as good as the ingredients
And even then,
Timing, heart, heat
But also
Mood.
Some things end up there every day
And some are simply not worth it
You need to eat,
and so something is there that will do
But some are carefully constructed and planned
And remind you
of what flavor is
and they also nourish you
and make you full
But for all meals,
one must also understand
How fortunate it is to have had them
and how sweetly life has conspired
to enliven the livers
Like memory | Fractured |even | in my dreams | I can’t believe my good fortune | dreambody | gliding | as if on ice | mutual glances | from opposite | corners | in a smoky room | Good found | in the bathroom’s | flickering fluorescents | 2007 | when white-knuckling | the last crumpled Lincoln | for a while | Scratch-off ticket: | a last chance scrap | in the Speedway store | where the asphalt | wept ethanol rainbows | by the buzzing ice cooler | Copper scent of old pennies | Not a jackpot | exactly the sum | nailed to my apartment | door | bills folding | heavy in my hip pockets | puddle near pump six | you fracture | in my dreams | many mercies | I still don’t trust
Color splashed along the rotted
floorboards of the old porch
as if the coleus plants were
abandoned, left to navigate
on their own, vining instead of bushing
traveling a splintered road.
The plants were huge in an array of
pots of ancient clay and porecelain charm,
some on tall iron plant stands, multi-colored
leaves draped down and curved along the
boards, stems covered, splatter of
raspberry reds, plum purples, lime greens.
The old nun came out in early morning
before Lauds the first liturgical hour and
communal breakfast,
to water and gently removed wilted leaves
that matched her aged hands, her
feet floating above the carpet of leaves.
She shuffled along the edge, like walking on
water, aluminum pitcher in hand,
dripping sustenance, each plant blessed
humble gesture of grace enshrined
a small piece of heaven.
Only if things would stop happening.
A flurry of appointments, a call,
A matter of money, a walk in on me while
A thought can’t wait to be put down.
I’m staring at the sunset, all is calm.
Raindrops in the puddles, brighter
And brighter still. Then poof,
Down she goes and we are swamped with
The surge of life, the social calls,
The dressing up to look conscious
When I’m not. But why not just say no.
Enough is going on just looking out the window.
Brighter and brighter still now
The hour after the sunball drops.
They say at the end one sees a bright light
But how will you ever if they keep interupting you.
I’m watching again, all is calm
A few minutes at the window
To read a psalm
Rake my last wind row.
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