The Departed
The news drones on and spills from the tv
while I knit. War ghosts and other griefs
drift like smoke around the room, weaving themselves
into the empty spaces of knit/purl, the forest green I carefully chose
darkened with their shadows of ash.
Faces flicker alive on the thin skin
of cyber space, their pixelled vibrancy a tease
that comforts imagination, while hands and fingers
long for the surface touch of a photograph,
real enough to press longingly against a longing heart.
My knitting needles grow heavy. They slow and stop.
I unravel the darkened weave of snared ghosts
freed to search for the dark road to heaven.
Bus ride
We meander though the city in wide time
our plump driver a happy Buddha, her flesh rolling
in waves over the small hard driver’s seat.
I catch a glimpse of sun-
light breaking
scintillas on fenders and hubcaps.
Honeycombed apartments stack to the sky
their half-drawn blinds shadow interiors
backing away from curious eyes.
The streets vibrate with disorder
disciplined by invisible walls that rise
from white lines harried cars nose up to.
I watch the crowd ebb & flow
a momentarily merge of disparate lives
awash through afternoon streets.
Why Moon is blue
She floats in her sea of salt
a knuckle of reflected light
agape with the pain of abandon,
tethered by old ties to that distant
blue dot, plump, ripe with life.
My love, she cries.
Echoes fill the night with unease
and lonely women walk to windows,
search her sad eyes in sisterhood
they too lonely moons that orbit
now distant planets, reflected light
grown dim, mouths agape with pain
tethered by old ties, unraveling.
Dying mermaid
The day holds promise, limpid
in early hours, and she feels the moment
cleanse her from worry.
A soft breeze, light as dawn, cools
her. A veil of curtain lifts,
throwing transparent shadows
over floor and bed, illusion of movement
in the quiet room where he sleeps yet, his back
facing her, its stare mute.
She looks towards skies blue like that wide ocean
of promise they stood before in another life,
Eden gleaming in the distance.
Currents that once buoyed a happy mermaid
heave her out to sea. Her world pulls back,
its shores misting in the distance.
Walking the dog
My dog and I walk the early morning hours
when sky begins to crack and egg shell colors spill through
muted, spring-like in their freshness.
The air tastes of faraway stars
a lingering metallic tang become green-scented breeze
that clears the head.
We walk in a silence full of the bustle of waking things,
of trees that rustle and stretch under a bluing sky
flooding east to west.
Minutes thicken with life. A pale sun hardens,
shadows seep from sidewalk cracks and flood streets
as dog and I turn towards home.
The news drones on and spills from the tv
while I knit. War ghosts and other griefs
drift like smoke around the room, weaving themselves
into the empty spaces of knit/purl, the forest green I carefully chose
darkened with their shadows of ash.
Faces flicker alive on the thin skin
of cyber space, their pixelled vibrancy a tease
that comforts imagination, while hands and fingers
long for the surface touch of a photograph,
real enough to press longingly against a longing heart.
My knitting needles grow heavy. They slow and stop.
I unravel the darkened weave of snared ghosts
freed to search for the dark road to heaven.
Bus ride
We meander though the city in wide time
our plump driver a happy Buddha, her flesh rolling
in waves over the small hard driver’s seat.
I catch a glimpse of sun-
light breaking
scintillas on fenders and hubcaps.
Honeycombed apartments stack to the sky
their half-drawn blinds shadow interiors
backing away from curious eyes.
The streets vibrate with disorder
disciplined by invisible walls that rise
from white lines harried cars nose up to.
I watch the crowd ebb & flow
a momentarily merge of disparate lives
awash through afternoon streets.
Why Moon is blue
She floats in her sea of salt
a knuckle of reflected light
agape with the pain of abandon,
tethered by old ties to that distant
blue dot, plump, ripe with life.
My love, she cries.
Echoes fill the night with unease
and lonely women walk to windows,
search her sad eyes in sisterhood
they too lonely moons that orbit
now distant planets, reflected light
grown dim, mouths agape with pain
tethered by old ties, unraveling.
Dying mermaid
The day holds promise, limpid
in early hours, and she feels the moment
cleanse her from worry.
A soft breeze, light as dawn, cools
her. A veil of curtain lifts,
throwing transparent shadows
over floor and bed, illusion of movement
in the quiet room where he sleeps yet, his back
facing her, its stare mute.
She looks towards skies blue like that wide ocean
of promise they stood before in another life,
Eden gleaming in the distance.
Currents that once buoyed a happy mermaid
heave her out to sea. Her world pulls back,
its shores misting in the distance.
Walking the dog
My dog and I walk the early morning hours
when sky begins to crack and egg shell colors spill through
muted, spring-like in their freshness.
The air tastes of faraway stars
a lingering metallic tang become green-scented breeze
that clears the head.
We walk in a silence full of the bustle of waking things,
of trees that rustle and stretch under a bluing sky
flooding east to west.
Minutes thicken with life. A pale sun hardens,
shadows seep from sidewalk cracks and flood streets
as dog and I turn towards home.
