It is quite possible
I had seen you before
in the hallway perhaps.
I hope I smiled,
I assume you did.
Neither of us
could have imagined
it would one day
grow into love.
Uncategorized
NOT YOU, NOT NOW
The cat ignored him totally this morning. She wouldn’t give him the time of day if she could have told time. It was surprising, and for him it was painful. He loved the cat, and he thought the cat loved him. Once he thought he saw her sneer but he knew cats did not do that. But she looked away, if she had even looked at him in that moment. But to not even acknowledge his presence, to thank him for the food, that hurt. The cat hid her smile, knowing even Pavlov would be pleased with how well her training of the human was going. He would be wrapped around her paw before he knew it at this pace
CAPACITY
It is not that I am getting
forgetful as I grow older, it is
merely that I am replacing
old information with new,
my mind is large but
its capacity is still finite.
So if I forget your name
when I see you, it is not
because you do not matter,
although that could be the case,
it is simply that I now
remember the names of others
and yours exceeded capacity.
It is not that I do not care
about you, assume that I do
whether true or not, help
me by introducing yourself
again, a gentle reminder
of where and how we met,
unless, of course, you
have forgotten me as well,
in which case I am pleased
to have the chance to meet you.
LOOKING
As you look at him or her
do you see someone with
a beauty you only wish you had,
or someone you pity
for lacking your beauty?
As they look at you
do they see someone with
a beauty they only wish they had
or someone they pity
for lacking their beauty?
When I look at either of you
I see a person like myself, feel
neither jealousy or pity
for in those emotions
the moment is truly wasted.
HEAVEN, UTAH
We would sit around the small park
as evening made a hasty retreat
to somewhere, anywhere more lively
than Salt Lake City in the heart of summer.
We’d pass a jug of whatever was
cheapest at the state package store,
usuall Gallo this or that, and roll joints
which made their way around our circle.
The cops would drive by every once
in a while, and wave, and we’d
politely wave back and yell thanks
which brought a smile as they drove off.
In Salt Lake City, in 1969, there was
no drug problem, and you only drank
in private, or smirked at those who did
in this boring little corner of Mormon heaven.
GRAMMATICALLY APART
What sets us apart
from other species
has little or nothing
to do with self-awareness
and everything to do
with parts of speech.
The birds outside
my window shun labels,
think only of eating,
mating, flight, of going
and arriving, of being.
They know nothing of birth,
do not fear death, for it
is merely a label they cannot
accept or understand.
It is left to our kind
to need to label, to define
every small and large thing
for we sense our existence
and must rely on two things,
for we knew that we live
a world of pronoun and noun.
SIREN SONG
I should stand on the shore
take up a great shell
and blow a trumpet song
to the whales who stay
always just beyond sight.
I have no shore
on which to stand
and had I one, I lack
the skill to pluck
a song from a shell
and so the whales
I imagine offshore
must listen carefully
to the song I cast
deep within my dreams.
FEEDER
The seed speckles
the snow like buckshot
piled neatly under the branch
where we, fingers numbed,
tied the little chalet
to the lowest limb
of the ancient maple.
The birds stand staring
as the squirrel swings
slowly in the breeze.
First Appeared in Echoes, March – April 1996.
HISTORY
It was easier
having no history
of my own, borrowed
histories are easily discarded.
After a while, you
begin to think of the adopted
history as your own,
and no one doubts you.
I have a history now
countries woven into
my DNA, always present
but never before seen.
It is mine, I passed it
along to my sons, and
although it grows weaker
it is a burden they cannot avoid
and one day, perhaps,
they will stop and consider
from where they came, and not
have to invent the answer.
INVASION
The light has faded
and the wetland lies under
its mantle of faint starlight.
The birds are there, we
can hear them, but our eyes
do not allow us to see them,
despite our desire to have
more time with them.
They can see us, in our
well lit homes, staring out,
but they do not want
particularly to see us.
To us they are a fascination,
to them we are an invader
and the victim does not care
to see his conqueror, but
the invader always wants
to see his victims yet again.
