Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Archive for February, 2010


Kisatchie Pinecones


Days and Nights

The days run into one another
jostling children in a queue
mindless of what came before
and what comes after
eager just to get there

Nights spread out
deep desert sands
chill and dry and contemplative
elderly women staring up
at Orion
longing for something
just out of memory

I am between them
the children and the women
watching the sun set
feeling the moon rise
sweating and shivering
counting clouds
and stars


Witte Wieven

It’s late for frost, but just last night

a strong one fell on everything

that bit the soft presumptuous leaves

and iced my garden’s flowerlings.

Before the dawn I went outdoors;

it’s just a short walk to Fern Park,

and though the path is not well lit

I’d know my way there in the dark.

My grandpa lies there, granite bound

and has been there for many years;

next to him lies my grandmother:

“She shared her smiles and hid her tears”.

I felt the cold bench through my clothes

and pondered the grey slab of stone

with aching body, wondering

if death is better than alone.

For sixty-seven years they lay

beside each other since they wed,

and nine long years after he passed

she still made room for him in bed.

I always wanted love like that

the kind that goes past “death us part”

but now that I have loved, and lost,

I don’t know what to tell my heart.

A witte wieven was drifting up

as sunrise came and warmed my head

I left some flowers and a prayer

for both the living and the dead.



Quietly, now
Come closer with your sorrow
Place it near mine
Let them nestle together

They look so alike
The echoes of our singular pain
How can it be?
Does grief have a lineage?

I would reject my own
As a bastard born broken, hideous
Except that it is so dear
I cannot release it yet

Not to the world, at least
Not for the examination of strangers
But for you, sad counterpart
I will pull back the blanket

Ours is understanding
Clad in darkness, weeds and armbands
Carrying these burdens
Recognizing their sameness

Quietly, now
While their howls are quiescent
Let us find comfort
Place your hand in mine


For The Birds

Peacock spreads his tail,
a display of eyes.
He struts the lawn
and prances for emphasis:
‘I see you wherever you go…
I know your every movement…
I reign supreme…
Look upon my majesty.’
Peahen in her drab
huddles, clutching a branch.
She wails from her perch,
her voice
sounding like madness.



If I give in to this urge
there will certainly be a moment…
oh, more than a moment…
probably an hour, at least,
of sheer, indulgent bliss.
Oh, sinuous temptation,
tickling me with your forked tongue
in unmentionable places.
I am reminded
by your dangerous whispers
of my mortality
of time’s brevity
of opportunity’s limitations.
But how short is life, really?
Not short enough, apparently
to avoid waking with a headache
and regrets.
Trickster, stop poking me in the id;
I have enough heartburn
without eating fire.



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