Another Bird, Rising
The shadow behind you slides over
the ceiling, up and gone,
a wingless silence. The drafted swirl.
One morning shifts into two, and still
you won’t give in, each moment’s
gasp another one earned, a measurable
notch on the table’s edge, quarters
in the magic purse. They all count.
Pills, chemo, radiation. Ocean to sky.
Houses to ash. Your eyes see black.
“Another Bird, Rising” first appeared in deLuge in fall 2016.
My poems “Scarecrow Ascends,” “Before We Knew,” and “A Step Closer” have been published at Sleet Magazine. I am grateful to editor Susan Solomon for taking these poems.
My poem “Aleppo” is featured at Vox Populi.
I am grateful to editor Michael Simms for his support of my work.
How to Do Nothing
First you must wash the window to observe more clearly
the dandelion seed heads bobbing in the wind. Next,
announce on Facebook and Twitter that you will be offline
for the next two days, if not forever. Heat water for tea.
Remember the bill you forgot to pay, and then cleanse
your mind of all regret. Consider industrial solvents
and the smoothness of sand-scoured stone, the miracle
of erasure. Eliminate all thought, but remember
the water. Hitch a ride on a Miles Davis solo and float
away on a raft of bluesy notes and lions’ teeth,
and wonder how to sabotage your neighbor’s leaf blower,
but nicely, of course. She’s a widow with a gun.
Now it is time to empty yourself. Close your eyes.
Become a single drop of dew on a constellation of petals.
Evaporate, share the bliss. Stuff that dog’s bark
into a lock box alongside the tapping at the door,
the phone’s vibration, the neighbor’s rumbling bass,
and the nagging, forgotten something that won’t
solidify until three in the morning, keeping you awake.
But don’t ignore the whistling. You must steep the tea.
* * *
“How to Do Nothing” was published in Volume 4 of Steel Toe Review.
Jeff Schwaner considers the perspectives of houses, of owls…
At dusk the house blinks, as if it is just waking up
Though like an owl, its eyes were open all day
And the house only sleeps deeply for about eleven seconds
At a time. Like the owl, the house can rest
Half its brain more fully by closing one eye.
How the house’s dreams must differ from ours–
What would our dreams be like if we could see only
What our left brain or right brain most desired?
Like the house, the owl knows nothing beyond
Containment. Its mouth is small and full of earth.
Like the house, the owl makes its home
Close to the dense trees where the paths
Are too narrow for larger things to bother it,
Blends in with its surroundings. Why do we
Think the owl is wise and the house empty
Of soul? Even its rapidly beating heart, matching
That of…
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Staircase at Fifteen
Ascending, her centrifugal
influence captures me
and I follow,
breathless,
witless, wordless,
despite all longing
and shared
discretions, in spite
of the thundering
pulse
and the incessant
demand to act
or run.
She pauses, looks
down, sees
nothing.
Suddenly freed,
spinning off
and slowing down,
shrinking,
far below, on equal
footing but so
apart,
never to meet
in truth, unable
to define direction or
motive, I remain
fixed as she moves
higher, far away, close
but up,
always up.
Flowers
How they share our
desires, shape
our days.
Passion to hope,
fingertips to
lips. Some bud
easily, others
struggle. A little
water, light, a kind
voice. Sometimes so
little achieves
so much. Yesterday’s
sunflower droops on
the sill. Today’s promise
arrives with rain.
“Flowers” last appeared on the blog in July 2017.
I Have Answers
But the questions remain.
A little pepper, some salt,
butter. Our rosemary needs pruning
and the music’s too loud
to hear. The lizard basks in sunlight
eight minutes old, but I forget to ask
what else we need. Or want. Just this,
she says. Red, like your favorite sky,
the in-between, the misplaced one.
“I Have Answers” is included in From Every Moment a Second. Available at Amazon.Com and Here
Interiors Continue reading
Nine Variations of a Cloud
1
Looking up, I renounce pity and the sadness of wind.
2
Only lust pulls and shapes more, diminishing your integrity.
3
It slips through whenever I try to grab it.
4
Every phrase is a window glowing at night, surrendered to its frame.
5
Water in another form is still water.
6
In whose ruins must you survive?
7
Another shape, another moment desperately spent.
8
And still you thrive in diminishment.
9
Bearing nothing, it conceals.
* * *
“Nine Variations of a Cloud” first appeared in Kindle Magazine in December 2015, and was also included in Gossamer: An Anthology of Contemporary World Poetry.
O at the Edges 