Of Blood and Air (a golden shovel)
I have no memory of when I became aware I was one—
singular, apart, not-mother. On that day
did I feel fear or exultation?
Category / Poetry
Re-reading My Friend Flicka
I know this boy,
his unhappiness, his stern father,
quiet mother in the kitchen.
What he wants, more than anything,
is a horse of his very own.
Latch Key for Boys
I told my brother that the BB I was going to fire
at him, from our second story window, wouldn’t hurt,
that his layers would protect him from the sting.
And I imagine him, now, walking into drizzle,
a desperate wonder wrapped around him
Continue reading… "Latch Key for Boys"Birth Announcement
Let’s begin with her feet. Ten proper toes
pressed into pink ink then pressed again on one
side of a small card—two tender rhodies
determined to root in the heavy dark of a Port Orford winter.
The first question I ask the nurse is not is it a boy
Continue reading… "Birth Announcement"Your Eyes Are Not a Camera Drone
Cactus bee
and white-winged dove pollinate by day
Long-nosed bats
swarm the blooms each night
The blossoms become ripe red fruit for the desert
What Your Sleep Tastes Like
On the couch you slumped over
into my shoulder, your lips parted.
When you slumped over the couch
& dropped your half-eaten scone,
your parted lips dripped crumbs into my shoulder.
Mother Milk
Sons are not often carved
in the cashmere shape of tenderness,
but still, he reaches out his arms
at least once a day—-
a long hug, sometimes longer,
as though he is quenching a thirst
for swallows of milk
Rural Electrification
A single naked light bulb, a single line
stretched across winter fields, brought the new century
to my grandmother’s house. For a hundred years,
fire light, oil light and candlelight
dimly lit a two-room farmhouse.
Cat at the Window
The cat peeks behind the lace curtain
to get a clearer look through the glass.
For all he knows, he lives in Plato’s Cave,
and here’s an exit. But surely his life
is real: the tin foil balls, the catnip toy,
the scratching post—all the hideouts
he has found safe haven in. Surely,
they are real. And yet there, beyond the glass,
a breeze stirs, colors sparkle in the sun,
sounds rebound. A different world obtains.
In the summer, the glass becomes a screen,
and then smells are added to the tableau
spread before him. Such mysterious scents!
Now there’s even a dark creature flying
across the sky, making a raucous noise.
The cat may never go outside to test
his thesis. What would he make of it all?
Could he have lived a real life there?
He tries to see what he has sacrificed
to let a human being love him here.
Abundance
There is no sleep, just deep exhaustion.
And as I probe the mists of life I am surprised
by finding unexpected riches.
Like Pharaoh, I have been well endowed
with all the preciousness I need
for an eternal death time and beyond.