Finally, a small wind to move the curtains.
Hot in this upstairs room. Outside,
the dogs sleep on the cool concrete floor
of the garage.
When he called for help,
they put him on hold
longer than he could stand
and he broke
the phone in half.
I asked my grandmother after he left what was wrong with him. “The war,” she said acidly.
If my mother had not been an alcoholic, I might not have been a poet.
I once flew in my dreams.
Then I read a book
that taught me how to control it.
My old friends are pretty much the same, a little slower getting out of their chairs, but the who of them always there beneath the skin – soul? I’ve become … Continue reading
The fawn was lost, it seemed to me, stumbling through the foggy field and disappearing. I went after it, not knowing why, thought I might help somehow. Wanted to hold … Continue reading
The noise of my life is still sleeping,and the self beneath myself enters the room.I say, I hope I’ve not abandoned you,my better brother. He says, no — I’m here all … Continue reading
Only the hard things remain. That bucket with the bottom rusted out won’t do. That old horse will – see how he still runs toward the barn when he hears … Continue reading