An empty stretch of road,
a bird in the middle of it
with a bent and broken wing.
A car swerves around it,
and the inevitable is delayed.
Isn’t that always the way?
We lie in the middle of the road
with our broken wings
until something comes along
to make us fly again.
1. (tricube)
if the tank
seems empty,
use structure
to siphon
out meaning–
remember!
it will surge–
spit out the
first dribble
2.
I turned to form
to force surprise
from writing–
but I was all husk,
hollowed out by bells
and schedules,
scratching chitan.
I scrap structure,
and there is wonder
how
with freedom
the words morph
into
Invitation to Big Change:
Oh, to quit this dysfunctional system!
and discover
who next I will become.
The first few days
Upon on her return
The surreality runs high
Laying on the cusp of a dream
We have waited
A long, desperate year
To be on the same porch
Once again and just be
Listening to the summer rain
Laughing over Swedish candies
Welcome back my dear sister
Its good to have you home.
the evening heat thick
with the leftover rain
hanging in the air
clinging to the green leaves
the weight pulling them
toward the damp earth
where the grass grows
thick glowing gold
in the evening sun
come from behind
the storm clouds
all tension is gone
except what’s between us
and how you raised your brows
from across the room
that said more
than anything
I could ever write down
The garden grew so big
Every year
Me and my dog would walk through the tomato plants
Snatching and eating to our hearts’ desire
I’d throw one in his mouth
He would hold a plant still to pick a cherry tomato off
Knee-deep in briars and mud
And hiding in the pumpkin vines
I’d scooch my way out without a single person spotting me
My dog, however, would run out,
Jump in the pond,
Howl, and
Let everyone know exactly who he was
I had scratches on me a mile long
Bruises so yellow and
Matted short brown hair
When the winter came the weeds
Died and the ground got crunchy until the cows
Squished it down for spring
My dog is still buried under the tree over there
Right where the garden would have been
The following year
I couldn’t bare to throw a handful of cherry tomatoes on top that dirt
Because I knew he would have been so disappointed
That I wasn’t eating them
We spent our evening
sharing a meal at Ramsey’s
fried catfish, soup beans,
fried green tomatoes and slaw.
We laughed so hard remembering
her childhood, stories of dropped
rocks, sister scaring, misbehaving.
We drove back to her apartment
to take a walk and discovered
a dead rabbit, in the middle
of the street in front of her place.
She couldn’t bear to look
and I couldn’t bear her sadness
so armed with a box, a bag and
some cardboard, I removed
the dismembered animal
from the pavement, thinking
back to my childhood when
I would watch my grandfather
clean rabbit for grandma to
cook in a huge pot, adding
homemade dumplings when
the meat was tender.
I told her this and recalled
how thoughtful a hunter my
grandfather was and how he
would have seen this as a
waste and disrespectful to
the animal.
We continued our walk and talked
of time past, present and shared.
KW
6/23/24
