She dresses
In unmatched pieces
Teasing me
With her style
Dancing before the mirror
Then blowing a kiss.
Who am I
In this audience:
A suitor?
A lover?
A surrogate, for practice?
She never tells me,
Just raises
One practiced eyebrow
That says with
Affection:
“I’m becoming a woman
And you can’t stop me!”
Last day of holiday
My final twenty dollars in hand
I go in search of a memento
Something to show my friends
I tell myself
To represent this magical place
When once the salt has washed away
And my tan dissolved in graying skies.
My eye is drawn
To the superstore
Right next to our hotel
Here in Vacationland
Promising “Old Time Candies”
In sickly sweet lettering on its
Unassuming sheet metal siding
And next to that
A flashing neon beacon
Scrolling siren specials of the day
Fireworks and stun guns
Throwing stars
Ninja swords
High-powered rifles
And of course
A lively line
Of tasers.
My own piece of America.
I ponder briefly which of these
Would be permitted in my
Carry-on baggage
And opt reluctantly
For lemon drops.
I love coffee
The first bracing taste
Reflected on my lover’s lips
A dusky harbinger of day.
I love coffee
The memory of graduation
To the sharing of fresh grounds
With my smiling mother.
I love coffee
Anticipating sleepily
My favorite rest-stop on the toll road
With the strongest joe around.
I love coffee
Caffeinated communion
At the end of countless walks
Across a nectar-filled wilderness.
I love coffee
The emblem of belonging
In small communities across
The frozen northern plains.
I love coffee
For I have learned
That coffee is
Love.
(Tanka)
Backstage, the cast swarms –
The queens, the workers and drones –
Their stings drawn for now.
Stirred up, they will take the lights
And tonight, this show will kill.
Late September they brought a tree
To symbolize the birth of hope
And gathered under darkened clouds
To plant it gently in the ground
Beside a junkie’s tired needle
Saying his work would never be in vain.
Perhaps in a more symbolic vein
They should have fertilized that tree
With something from the user’s needle
So that it would have some hope
Of thriving in that barren ground
No sunlight coming through the clouds.
Sometimes enthusiasm clouds
Our judgment, makes us rashly vain
Where there is really little ground
To fix our aspirations on a simple tree.
For such a youthful hope
Is like trying to thread a needle
In the dark, where we need all
Our faith to see even our hands. What clouds
Yet more the dimmest outlines of our hope
Is when every muscle, every sinew, every vein,
Combine, striving with hard-won chemistry,
Yet are not strong enough to hold us up on shifting ground.
This was his lot as each year ground
On and unfulfilled desires would first needle
Then betray in toxic symmetry.
The winds of discontent whipped close clouds
And bent him like a once-proud weather vane
Now facing south in blasts of unmet hope.
It is perhaps best not to be the hope
Of every person breaking ground
Where better folk than we have pierced their vein
Despairing and then thrown down the needle.
For raw enthusiasm rarely beats what clouds
The harsher truths of life with lasting artistry.
He saw at last that it was vain to wear the robe of hope
For people who would plant a tree then let it languish in such troubled ground.
He left, his needle stuck on empty, dust rising from his feet in clouds.
The
Party
Wore on
Until dark
When slightly tipsy
Revelers began to search for
Unsuspecting victims to be thrown into the pool.
She felt a wild surge of hope, but
They saw the collar
At her neck
And left
Her
Dry.
(A villanelle)
So much happens just beyond our sight
In rooms where sorrow’s stain is bleached away
Oh hold your children close to you tonight
This plain-dressed couple with their faces tight
An aching loss for which they did not pray
So much happens just beyond our sight
We catch them in the elevator light
Their weeping willow curve that seems to say
Oh hold your children close to you tonight
I cannot tell them how we had to fight
For she can barely keep her tears at bay
So much happens just beyond our sight
And suddenly I want to curse this night
When God threw dice and our son got to stay
Oh hold your children close to you tonight
A perfect birth perhaps is no one’s right
But some receive an awful price to pay
So much happens just beyond our sight
Oh hold your children close to you tonight
At 3am or thereabouts
Alarm bells ring
Throughout the ship
In panic, I shake my only
Trusted counselor, and ask:
O wise advisor – is everything OK?
-Don’t count on it
So this is not a false alarm?
-My reply is no
Will our passengers be alright?
-My sources say no
And the fate of the ship?
-Outlook not so good
My book tour?
-Very doubtful
Greatly sobered, I press on:
Great one, should we start evacuation?
-Reply hazy, try again
Launch the escape pods?
-Ask again later
But why? Isn’t there a great threat?
-Better not tell you now
What? Don’t you know?
-Cannot predict now
I’m freaking out, and you’re having a
Crisis of confidence? Get a grip, Nostradamus!
-Concentrate and ask again
Sorry!
So this is really big?
-As I see it, yes
Will there be pain and loss?
-It is certain
And the ship – will it be destroyed?
-It is decidedly so
In a huge ball of flame that can be seen
From Earth?
-Most likely
That’s embarrassing
-Outlook good
And they’ll blame me?
-Signs point to yes
Just because I fell asleep at the switch?
-Without a doubt
And this is the price of service?
-Yes
The lonely height of leadership?
-Yes – definitely
I’m not going to get that promotion, am I?
-You may rely on it.
(A rondeau)
Where we would make the choice to stay
The way we were our wedding day
We could be twenty for eternity
While frozen stiff below what people see
Held hostage to the petty things they say
It would be easier to go that way
To let harsh expectations hold their sway
And build a gilded cage for you and me
Where we would make the choice to stay
Instead we dare to show our feet are clay
And live our life in shades of grey
For there is greater sanctity
In being who we’re meant to be
Than hiding in a well-meant passion play
Where we would make the choice to stay
(A kyrielle)
I had not planned that Friday night
To socialize after the show
But one chance question shone a light
On leaving and the letting go.
What do you want? He softly said
As if he really cared to know.
I answered cradling my head,
The leaving and the letting go.
Then I will pray for you right now
He said, To have the grace to grow
In trusting in this deep desire
For leaving and the letting go.
A silence fell around us, drenched
In grief, the ugly undertow
Of all the years of fists tight clenched
At leaving and the letting go.
An hour passed, the wave was done
And I was ready now to throw
My lot with every wayward son
In leaving and the letting go.
Some choices need the steady love
Of those who know us best, and so
Our friends become the midwives of
Our leaving and the letting go.
Penguin Poems 