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poetry

after eden

after eden

the poems

a new notebook

new year, i wish

haircut too short

weekend laundry

disinterested in leaves

what could you hold?

papaya tree (an elegy)

anti-dragonfly

gray clouds feel like a blanket

treadmill sidewalks

little birds / leaves

bougainvilleas

after eden

a new notebook

This is a new notebook
A three dollar bound stack
of empty
Sheets waiting for thoughts
and ink
Three by five, brown sleeve,
a grid
Of dots inside the pages
for lines
Or calendars, or reminders,
or to-dos
But instead of checking dots
Or crossing completed plans
I make maps with words
That don’t rhyme.

new year, i wish

To lose my
Self, Ego, I, Me
and see —
See you for all you are
And was and can be,
Being to Being
Forgetting myself and opening
The windows for the breeze
To pass through
Without dirty window panes
To obfuscate the view
Of vessels, jars, broken pottery
And chipped clay with enough
Cracks to see
You

haircut too short

Last week, a haircut for twenty five
Plus tip making it thirty leaves me
Exposed, head bared to the wind
Naked, at least for the next four months
Until these eyes can hide behind banes
And pretend to be comfortable
In my own skin
Even then
It’s better when the flesh is covered up
Post-Eden way to hide the shame
As if hair grew back into my brain
To rewire my mind’s confidence
Perceived in the mirror’s double me
Forgotten after walking away.
Last week, I got a haircut
And I’m not sure how I feel
About what I see

weekend laundry

If my brain was my room
There would be laundry in the nooks
Shoved from corner to corner
Neglected to the peripheral of
Will-do’s, trying-to’s, and
Should-have-done’s
Still in need of a good fold
And put away
Like tidy people do,
But it builds into a stash
Until accumulated procrastination
Catches up with expectant weekend
Now divorced from plans and
Visions of might-have-been’s.

Now I fold: shirt, socks, jeans
But at least there is tea.

disinterested in leaves

Starting a notebook six
Days before a new decade,
And before everyone runs by in new
Running clothes gifted with good
Intentions for as long as attention
Spans hold (Will it be one month?),
Will buffer this resolution from
Sputtering to a slow, torturous stop
(Will it be enough?)
To pick up a pen and thump
It against the front porch swing,
Bedroom desk, wooden table top,
Listening for a deep hollow
Where hallow words might be hidden
Waiting to be inscribed by a
Willing scribe disinterested in
Leaves.

what could you hold?

An emptied glass bottle stands
Next to the kitchen sink
Sand pressed until transparent
An enclosed space now pregnant
Of infinite possibilities it could hold
In heat-hardened sides locked
With screw top lid to keep map
Or love letter dry. Or tea or
Pencils or receipts. Maybe water.
Or rather, I place the glass bottle
On my desk, under a light, nothing
Inside but a question
In no hurry to be answered.

papaya tree (an elegy)

A papaya tree no taller than
My hand to the ground
Grew
And grew
And grew past the window frame
Past the gutters, and past
The roof line. Cylinder fruit,
Green as its fan leaves,
Draped beneath on a slender
Straw trunk sucked the last
Orange from fading skies until
It was dusk and each fruit
When sliced, a sunset encapsulated,
Bled liquid sun on the countertop.
The papaya tree fell over last night
Its trunk sheared, no taller than
My hand out stretched
Five feet from the ground.

anti-dragonfly

Speed, the enemy of depth
Skims shallow ponds like a
Dragonfly hunting mosquitoes, darting
Across the surface in gyro
Turns and drops but deeper
Lakes ripple slower from thrown
Rocks, little waves pausing to gaze
At the sky before dissipating back
Into the liquid expanse expanding
Out and begging someone to look
Past reflection and look
Deeper still.

gray clouds feel like a blanket

It’s hard to describe why
Overcast days make me warm
And how gray clouds feel like
A blanket against the
Blustering and cold drizzle
Sometimes the infinite blue needs
To be hidden and introspection
Can only be bidden by
Dark jackets, black coffee, and
Subdued light trying to find
A way, but when it does,
Rays are Otherworldly beams
Beautiful enough to remind me
Why clouds are comforting
Especially when sun
Impaled

treadmill sidewalks

Treadmill sidewalks:
Barricades to aimlessness,
Barriers to discovering
That we all want to self-destruct
Sometimes in a blaze
Of a burning pyre of sticks
And bones.
I keep walking.
Does the moss hosting itself
On electric pole lines
Ever feel alone? And wish
To be ground even for the
Briefest moment of contact?
The old man, who sells split fire
Wood, sits in a plastic chair.
We wave.
I keep walking.

little birds / leaves

Sometimes it’s hard to
Tell the difference between
Little birds and leaves

bougainvilleas

Bougainvilleas
Blood red and
Purple twilight
Then peach before
Blushing violet.
The pattern repeats,
A different mood for every step for
Every passerby walking by,
Then fades into green myrtles
Releasing their fragrance only
When crushed
Until many steps later: more
Flowers,
Bleeding sky at
Twilight
Leaking pink
In hopes of another blushing morning.

the end

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