A blizzard in New York, but here it’s sixty-four in January, like never before. The warm air smells, tens of neighbors wash their cars, and something is blooming against better judgement. Failed winter, alright, this is a door straight to July, a reminder of how a heart can feel, still, after dormancy that at first I thought was self-imposed
This unseasonable warmth triggers an appetite for growth, voracious circles result around the rows at Home Depot, here’s the healthiest foliage, here’s a charity case, the names seduce, Caladium, coleum, lemon, firesticks– all for inside though. March here is two-faced, February not even worth mentioning, so one cultivates a life indoors, re-learns caring, waits for spring as a new leaf unfurls, revealing itself as such.
We don’t know what kitty wants just registered the shift in tone a lost child crying in the hallway at night now asserts its rights but the under -current is assailable, very much an ask. Held, a hiss rises from the deep, this is not the need, not food, not water, now even the spaniel’s eyes, those limpid pools of kindness, are starting to show alarm.
It’s not a decision to see my breath turn to cloud. It’s not my decision to breathe, although I know some, now, who have made that call— Coldest are the nights with stars, halos round the moon, clinical beauty, precise and piercing— You say it’s a matter of choice. I say, take whatever warmth you can get, for as long as you can get it– always darkest before the dawn hinges heavily on assumption
[Posthumous] Lilac streaks this sunrise against the dusky mountain the floor moves on with plans for discharge or work for the M.E. it does get lighter earlier now I panic in traffic thinking I’m late staring at the mountain and what does late even mean if not that we take so much for granted
Speaking of birds some thumbed the air between the dawn and the plastic cover of my headlights it must have been this morning and the right side of the road which is technically the orientation for both going and coming here but all I remember is the shape of the birds decidedly not bird-like beading up in feathery condensation coursing across my field of vision gray and fluid and seemingly wingless bushtits maybe the tiniest […]
Looking for something else I found an old photo— What a trick it would be to slip back into life, especially my own. . Oh that a want would just come when called, like an obedient dog, not some senile, pissy cat. . Or was it I was meant to sit and stay? The whole time I thought I was out there taming things. . This air is just too stale for remembering— the sky […]
A dream before sleep or a lapse in place, Venice, the path to the piazza, under our feet a watery moon, we were lost but didn’t care, we had no place to be, and all the gondolas were moored, only now does that seem prescient.
Think of a cardinal and I think of snow the natural background for that berry of a bird on a card you gave me once that you pasted in a book so what if it was summer when we watched one one last time the leather on the chair was cracked it was auburn it was orange it was afternoon and memories are nothing more than fabrications built to furnish emptying rooms and there must […]
A river coursing in the street, the sky a strange yellow above the newly mangroved lawn, and inside it’s still a bottle of yawns; it sure gets boring inside this Ark.
OPTIONAL POETRY 