And the black lines the trees made at sundown yesterday
in one direction now point the other, saying
see what you missed in your life that was there all the time.
Old warriors rarely
say anything about
people they killed or
horrors they saw
I know the spring is there.
I walk over it and feel its pull.
You are invited to attend a reading by some of the most talented poets in the country. The time is 8pmET Tuesday, March 2.
What a relief to sit by the waterfall
and let my mind go like this, each thought
a bubble rising from the bottom of a pond
I remember sitting on the sofa in my grandparent’s house–my day care center–watching television with my grandfather.
When the captain got old
and sick, he had the same
nightmare every night
I’d been up all night with a broken heart and saw him.
Skull deformed, one eye larger than the other.
Then back in his truck and gone before the rest of us were up.
My mind is weighted toward sorrow
and I feel unbalanced when I walk.
There are old rooms there, certainly,
that I’ve now abandoned, with their coffee spills
and unmade beds…