Walk to Work

The walk to work
through squealing doors shut carefully,
trying not to disturb the morning.
Gravel crunches in the thin day,
a service road in idle brownness beneath hushed mountains.
Breath catches in the cold just as eyes,
ten minutes before, had caught on fluorescent
hallway lamps
and ears (consciousness) had been caught
by the harsh trembling of
that alarm
clock.

Apron tied, pockets heavy with keys,
ravens overhead,
the walk to work
before chipmunks are awake.
Last night still hums,
so recent the cream soda lips, the curl
of absinthe toes against a soft bedspread.
Now, in the dawn, those others
wrapped in sleeping bags,
warmly unaware,
waiting for older light,
birdsong, breakfast.
The walk to work,
lungs filled.

Ice Cream

They were beautiful. Roland was small and sad, Betty was always brimming, her hair always smushed in the back as if she had been lying down all afternoon in bed reading or making love. One of her shirt-tails lay untucked like a flag beneath the sweater on her thigh. He hitched his pants nervously.
“Do you want some ice cream?” he asked, glancing at the cardboard tubs like frozen mouths. She wanted ice cream.
“No thank you: she replied.
“Are you sure? My treat!”
“No, I’m not hungry.”
“You don’t have to be hungry to eat ice cream” said the tall man behind the counter. He was grave and dimpled and his apron was too short.
“You’re right” he said, considering him seriously. He only waited patiently, the ice cream scoop stood in creamy cold water, waiting. Sunset brushed through the windows of the tiny shop, across brown tiles and tables that didn’t appreciate the light run clear from the mountains to close down the day. Spilled salt and pepper, ketchup bottles in cheerless wicker baskets, spring-loaded napkin holders. Waiting.
“But I don’t want ice cream” she declared, meaning she didn’t want ice cream tonight, her stomach hurt, but she wanted to come back and let him pay for two scoops from that tall man, wanted him to count out his nickels and watch her lick the cone down to the last corrugated bite. She would wait.
They left, the door tinkling shut, struck the sidewalk with her bag hanging empty from her shoulder.
“I hate going in without buying anything” Roland said, his hands patting hungrily at his pockets. They extracted a cigarette, and as he lit the paper stick looked guiltiy as three children skipped by, breathing clean air.
“I do it all the time,” Betty replied. She had no money.
“I always buy something” He compared, reconciled.
“You just wanted to buy me ice cream to assuage your guilt” she accused. Her feet accused the sidewalk, trying not to stomp, to pout.
“It’s true. I felt bad because I filled your bed with octopus.”

He had. It had been a laborious task, it had been the sun rising and bison birthing and a hundred trips with heavy plastic buckets, but her bed was full of octopi. Now the surprise was ruined.

morning comes

The body, deprived of sleep
feeds itself adrenaline to survive…
morning comes flushed with shaky energy,
a pounding heart
so easily mistaken for
love.

Your bare feet were lined with grime,
I wore your sweatshirt.
Awake before the alarm,
dressing hasty in the kitchen,
I am sure your roommate must have seen my shoes.

Walk By

There was a sparrow on your windowsill
as I walked by, as I walked by.
The moon it gleamed with light and lemonade,
turned our shadows into gold.
These empty streets know the tread of our feet,
I’ve been sleeping on your couch.
Will we make it home?
We will not speak of what we might have been.

All I want is to sit by you,
All I want is for you to touch my hand.
With all my words I can never ask for you,
so I will walk by, I will walk by.

There was a light on in your room last night,
as I walked by, as I walked by.
Those days we sprawled and spoke of airy nothing,
compared our dirty toes.
This tired town, flushed with red at sundown,
finds us still awake at dawn.
Will we make it home?
If we jump the train and ride it west…
All I want is to sit by you,
All I want is for you to touch my hand.
With all my words I can never ask for you,
so I will walk by, I will walk by.

This is the beginning and the end,
an embrace like falling into bed,
the seeds of a dandelion float away,
all these moments lying where they may.

There was a sparrow on your windowsill
As I walked by.

Commencement

Forever is a random affair, we’ve found,
so we will cling to where we land
as we are shaken out, scattered,
left to grin away sleep.
Tomorrow we will graduate.

Afraid to make an end
we will lie here, rumpled,
reading a bedtime story at dawn.
In the morning we will be rearranged.

Like bread your chest rises warm against my back,
hands tangled restless across my stomach.
We never have been this close,
never seen these eyes uncovered of glass,
those cheekbones like nearby hills.
There is no room to move,
but tonight we would rather sleep poorly
than alone.

Oh God, this is it, this is spring,
here it is!
all the light runs parallel to the ground.
Ice is gone, hallelujah, broken glass!
here are trilliums, and rabbits,
this fucking light
is so brilliant.

All winter we slept in caves and frozen ditches,
shut our eyes against everything.
Now the peonies are sprouting,
pulling through the earth,
painfully,
we are forgiven.
we wake up with our shoes on,
ready for the road.

Paradelle for the Prairie

Branches turning green this rainy spring,
Branches turning green this rainy spring.
Grass, seeds, birds like kites overhead,
Grass, seeds, birds like kites overhead.
Overhead branches, rainy green grass kites
this turning spring. Birds like seeds.

A town without walls hearing wind calling,
A town without walls hearing wind calling.
Writing sidewalks with midnight footsteps,
Writing sidewalks with midnight footsteps.
A midnight wind with writing, calling without hearing.
Footsteps, walls, sidewalks: a town.

This is all green, all dark and new,
This is all green, all dark and new.
Floods of starry flowers down the plains,
Floods of starry flowers down the plains.
Dark down plains, all starry floods of green
and the flowers, this is all new.

This, a wind, floods spring with green green seeds.
New-hearing birds calling starry footsteps down
grass plains without sidewalks.
Kites writing overhead, and walls of the town
like rainy branches turning dark.
This midnight is all all flowers.

Ode to the Third Stall

O grey cubicle, neutral walls enfolding,
swinging wooden door unoccupied!
Neglected, your paper supply lingers, that
rolling dispenser hanging loosely from the wall.
You stand at such a perfect distance:
no first stall, vomiter's release,
no favored second child,
but still no unwanted fourth, that no-man's land
beyond recall.

O blank space, empty cell!
Cloistered my tears are thrown in muffled accord
upon calm taupe tiles,
peeled as paint in that dingy space.

Third stall, you are sanctuary, you are hope!
Your bespattered throne stands enshrined, ignored,
for how the flush throws water upon the seat:
distasteful! And so avoided,
rejected!
Thus you are mine, and truly
I am yours.

Metaphor

Crashing a sled we barely survived
we lay in the snow, laughed for a while.
When we stood up, you were my smile:
the best moment I can remember.

You’re my standing up after falling down,
up in the air, spinning around.
You’re buckwheat pancakes at 2 am,
a handmade scarf in winter.

When I’m living far away
I know you’re thinking of me,
You’re all the ginger candy ever,
plus the oolong in my tea.

You’re the four-note bass line
of a real catchy tune,
you’re the now and the next
and sometimes the soon.

You’re clever lyrics and dry socks,
my library card and mix cd,
you are my only dorm room key
with a really spiffy lanyard.

three little words

Why must we say with words
what can never be explained with words?
Others may say it better:
but you are home to me.

Just thinking of your laugh
is enough to make me start to laugh,
and I sing the songs you write
when I'm walking alone.

When I misquote Shakespeare
- I'm forever misquoting Shakespeare -
you always know the next line
it is the lark, my love!

Why must we be profound
always defining what we have found?
Can't really say it better:
yes, you are home to me.