First Cut
He likes to mow on Wednesday mornings
and it’s in the fifties with sun
the color of good April poems.
I hear the hum of spring at last,
Category / Poetry
Tutka Bay Retreat
A sucker for low tides, I walk the beach
instead of doing my homework. Abaft
a tombolo I spook a raft of ten
sea ducks that launch into two perfect
chevrons with military precision.
In Shock
he combined consonances
and vowels that escaped your mouth
crawl, unhurried, from across the room
into my ears. Yet, they are as difficult
to decipher as hieroglyphics.
Festival
Crickets and katydids shrilled
through the summer nights, along with music
from the shantytown taverns–
and lightning bugs like struck match embers
floated on a sea of night air.
Wanton
Wanton, verb, “to waste or squander,” thus
to want on and on beyond the musical measures
life provides, over the hump of happiness, and into
precincts where Conscience fades like a distant
radio signal and Temptation spreads
a pretty cloth over a soiled table.
My Ticket to Russia
How many times will I pack
my suitcases with so many
layers of sweaters, tights,
wool coat, gloves, scarf, hat,
boots – yes, get ready for
Paid Up
Close your eyes.
You have already paid
for this soft towel
with four bright colors
smooth against your cheek.
Around Water
Swimming pool children
gleam flawless blonde smiles.
Coffee-colored daughter spirals
outward, opens her eyes
to the fearful kiss of wind
One Small Thing
The trash bags had been outside too long.
The gray boards of the deck faded in the sun,
the steps down to the back alley blackening in the shade.
The bags were split, their contents turned
Continue reading… "One Small Thing"My House of Refugees
In the kitchen a stew
of chickpeas and county corn
cassia bark and chicharron
plantain yam
crumbly cheese and bitter asafoetida.