Monday, August 11, 2014

At The Train Station

On the blue cupped plastic chair in the waiting room of
the Amtrak station
 I confirm the differences between myself
and the ravished locals.
A large wobbly woman with a drenched tattered skirt
pushes her cart past ashen people
with missing teeth and invisible companions.
I conjure up her crimes and inadequacies.
Her cart, full of unrecognizable objects
swollen and gray,
like her thick legs, holds her weight on its front end.
I cross off two boxes on my “I am not one of them” list
__ trash carting
__ hoarder of  nondescript gray objects
I rummage through my mind to confirm her failings.
Addicts are more likely emaciated
Criminals – bold and suspicious.
I will have to settle for some unnamed sloth or greed.
Anything to confirm her culpability.
I toss my half eaten egg and bacon sandwich into
a steel gray bin
and straighten up -
Conscious and respectable.
And note my resolutions.

Mail Boy

The boy who delivers the mail to the secretaries
in the town schools
wears a generic black polo -
with a generic bear logo over his
soft thin chest.
Not like the pretty town boys with their Vineyard Vines duds -
in summer water colors and nautical prints.

He apologizes with every step - his almost graceful arms
blowing off his every utterance.
One wonders if he remembers walking these same halls
in his day – slipping by like a ghost among princes
timid and vague.
But it is not dimness that stifles him, he knows.
Or lack of depth.

So one wonders if he has a dream or two – or had one
swept away in these halls.
Under the grander dreams of giants
The art work on the walls reminds him of what he never did.
Of  path-less-ness.
He bows gingerly toward the secretary at her desk
And murmurs softly at her generous grin.

Dawn Moon

Just before dawn
on this vacant shore
I have come for the gift
of a leftover moon

Last night we cheered and exalted
and held our cameras reverently
and pointed to our children,
and back up again.

Toward this eternal sphere -
its extra 13 percent girth
making promises
of illumination

infrequently seen –
of awe,
eternally craved.
We shared tenderly.

And now I will share
that I have come selfishly here
in quiet, and absent
the praise and uproar

To claim what is left -
faded as she may be,
and dwarfed by distance -
of this super moon.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Running Away

Running away isn’t hard to do
Your just declare your endless love
For where you are and sigh
And heave a heavy breath or two

And when you’re almost out the door
Be sure to purse your lips just so
In a sympathetic smile –

Then turn your head and say no more. 


A spider, fat and gray,
Was making her home in my stairwell.
Before I could snarl or roll my eyes -
Her slender legs caught my attention
Rhythmically she wrapped and wrapped her prey
Her tender arms bending this way and that -
Like a mother shaking out her child’s sheets
On chore day.
And what reason had I for all my contempt
And past crimes.
She did what I do every day.
And with fewer complaints no doubt -
Or hope for her own future.
Content with her fate-
Steadfast with this dance - which would -
She trusted - beget generations of healthy decedents.
Long after she had sacrificed everything.
And for that I had to love her just a bit.

Monday, May 26, 2014


Tonight the only chill is a welcome one
And the sun burns blood - red over the horizon -
You lose it though, around the bend, over and over
As if it’s too much to ask for one clear view
And you swerve and grasp the wheel with an ache
Swallowing your rage –
And shame -
You need the sun not just
Fierce and bleeding
You need it whole

And you need it to stay

Saturday, May 17, 2014


Just after the tumescence of perfect love recedes
You locate your disappointments
Which were there all along
It could be a mother
Lover, or child
But you made the mistake
Of the ages -of basking
In touch - In the eyes
In soft breath, and gentle words
In the carnal moment -
Fleeting and illusory

Maybe you stopped cheering as loudly as you had
Or someone’s eyes stopped wrinkling in the corners when
You walk through the door
Maybe they just woke up
Or grew up
Or realized you’re not the only one
Who can bake rainbow cup - cakes
Perhaps someone stops remembering –
Or remembers too much
Or realizes they are as fleeting as a breeze
And runs after their life

And though you think about running too
You want only to go in reverse
You don’t say a word – because you’re silly
But not stupid
So you hold your breath
And race against all of your deeper longings
You race as though your life depends upon it.

Which of course it does.