I stood over the mirror
meant for a bedroom chest
But it was here now,
lying on the grass
facing the sky
At eight years old I could
hardly see why he was
leaving but here were his
things, scattered about the
lawn
Waiting to go on the truck
Looking at the mirror
I had found a comfortable
distraction
The overcast sky loomed
below me as the grass curled
around the oaken frame, curling
over the edges like the tiny
hands of the earth, clasping
it in place
Dutifully assured that
I was not to blame for his departure
I watched the sky float by
I watched the clouds meander
slowly across the pane of glass
the contours of light and dark
flowing through them
I wondered how far away they
were and I saw myself reaching
down through the mirror
and grabbing hold
Catching a ride across the sky
In the far right corner of the
glass I saw a break forming in
the clouds
illuminating my world,
turned upside down
something blue
was easy enough to find
digging through an old drawer
somewhere in the back room
of my mind
rummaging through memories
and histories and psychic lint
everything tinted that
melancholy color
I tossed her a sad story
I had read
when I was happy
and she fastened it
to her stocking
just below the knee
more difficult
but only slightly was
concealing a borrowed
ocean of regret in the
tails of her dress
which left a trail
of puddled sorrow
where she walked
my distracted eyes
would follow them
forever wondering
if I should stoop to
sop them up
though I never did
in her eyes she wore
the new light of the
sanguine dawn hung low
spilling the horizon
across the day
but they were hidden by her
painted veil
painted with a song as
old as planets
old as the sun
old as stars
as old as the night that fell
Over the acres together they blend
An ocean of green stretches in soft waves
The current of wind washing over it
Ripples slowly the newly shorn blades
As is my rite in every new April
I walk out over the soft acres of grass
To the far away oak that rules the field
Standing in solitary dominion
Its strong arms lifting high its leafy crown
As I begin it is only a blemish
A small leafy pock on the horizon
And as I walk, as is always my wont
I watch it slowly grow with every step
Arriving I place my hand on its trunk
The midday shade splayed evenly around
I feel the craggy bark on my fingers
And peer up into the long slow branches
A few paces West of the tree I sit
And ponder the abundance around you
Your monument, the green life of this field
I see the shaded and soft waving blades
Newly sprung from the rest of cold winter
Gripping the slow rolling earth beneath them
As I rise I shift to my knee and think
Of the words you spoke on your final day,
“Let me rest beneath the oak where we met
So I might live in the grass of the field
In love, in life, in happiness and sorrow
In time these days from memory will fade
But our green sea, forever will remain”
I place a lilly gently on the slope
And ponder it’s white petals on the green
I feel you reaching through the resting blades
To breathe it’s fragrant nectar once again
And you smile, as you always smiled, for me
What is it that draws a man to poetry?
What is it that compels him to extract
his soul
like squeezing sap from a vine
and watching it drip upon
a page?
Why would a man open up his chest
and pour out his essence
for all to see?
By committing his contradiction to
pulp print
it no longer holds him
It is so he can at last be free
You never quite know what to
expect on a first date
Coffee is my favorite option,
because it allows for the
possibility of a quick escape,
which I have found is sometimes
necessary
If I have spoken to her for long
enough before the first date,
sometimes a dinner is nice.
Romantic yet noncommittal
at the same time.
Though sometimes,
when it’s a good date, the
food gets in the way of the
conversation. When it’s bad
the conversation gets
in the way of the food.
When it’s really bad, the
food just stares at me, barking,
“Say something!”
I just give it a stern look and
open my eyes a little wider,
leaning forward just a touch.
I’m trying to tell it to shut up,
already. If I had something to say
I would be saying it. But this
girl just picks at her food
and gives one to three word
answers to every question. If I
could find a topic that would
manage to evoke a complete
sentence, I certainly would.
But I don’t think my message
gets across. Instead I just poke
it with my fork and ignore its
occasional growl.
This one, though, is something
different. A drive in movie, like I
haven’t been to since I was a child.
Lying in the back of this SUV, with
the rear seats pushed down, talking,
both of us leaning slightly inward
as rain cascades down the back
window, obscuring the screen.
But I don’t have the heart to tell
you that I’ve missed the last ten
minutes of your story, because
I am so, utterly enchanted by the
way you are talking through your
(wonderful)
smile.
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