Dry Well
I trace the symbols.
In the dirt, among the grubs and crooked
weeds. Writing of loss. Of missing things.
Wondering if words will fill my mouth
with wool or grit. With pebbles and salt.
If truth is what I want.
* * *
“Dry Well” first appeared in Vox Populi in August 2019. I’m grateful to editor Michael Simms for his steadfast support.
Somehow Dawn
I don’t know what to say. Or how.
Feeling that I am on the upslope,
not close. Not wrong. I want
to be that hollowed space
in the hackberry’s trunk,
the calm of darkened light.
And more. Some honey, dripped
from the spoon. A house finch,
fluttering. I will whittle my losses,
carve out needs. She will tell me
the history of our days. She will
smile, engrave her initials on my
chest. Somehow, the birds still
sing. Somehow, dawn trickles in.
“Somehow Dawn” was first published in August 2019 at Vox Populi. I am grateful to Michael Simms for his support, and am thrilled to be a regular contributor to this lively publication.
Lying in Bed, I Think of Breakfast
The moon smiles and I lie here thinking
of the simple breakfasts I would cook for
us: sticky rice with scrambled eggs and
sauteed peppers, or toasted boule with bacon
jam and a side of sliced peaches. And coffee.
Always coffee, black and bitter. But circumstance
dictates other courses, other time zones, and you
wake in your city as I walk in mine, an early
shopper plundering the store’s vegetable
bins, wandering the aisles in search of a
bargain and that special ingredient missing
from my tired, inconsolable days.
“Lying in Bed I Think of Breakfast” was published in December 2019 by The Big Windows Review. Thanks to editor Thomas Zimmerman for accepting this piece.
My poems “In a Moment of Existential Anxiety Kermit Plays the Banjo” and “Magpie Love Song” are live at MockingHeart Review. Many thanks to editor Tyler Robert Sheldon for taking these pieces.
Sheng-yu’s Lament (after Mei Yao-ch’en)
First heaven took my wife,
and now, my son.
These eyes will never dry
and my heart slowly turns to ash.
Rain seeps far into the earth
like a pearl dropped into the sea.
Swim deep and you’ll see the pearl,
dig in the earth and you’ll find water.
But when people return to the source,
we know they’re gone forever.
I touch my empty chest and ask, who
is that withered ghost in the mirror?
* * *
“Sheng-yu’s Lament” is included in my micro-chapbook, No Eye But The Moon’s, available via free download at Origami Poems Project.
The transliteration on Chinese-poems.com reads:
Heaven already take my wife
Again again take my son
Two eyes although not dry
(Disc) heart will want die
Rain fall enter earth in
Pearl sink enter sea deep
Enter sea can seek pearl
Dig earth can see water
Only person return source below
Through the ages know self (yes)
Touch breast now ask who
Emaciated mirror in ghost
Self-Portrait as Question
Walking hand-in-hand with what,
who presupposes why, and when
huddles with where before skittering
off to its murky corner. Sometimes
I present myself as a shy minute
or a cloud’s effigy streaming across
a scruffy field. Few suspect the truth.
Answers ricochet from the limestone
wall, but no one nabs them. I react
quickly and offer the unknown, the
life I claim, my name, in return.
* * *
“Self-Portrait as Question” was first published in Rue Scribe in September 2018. Many thanks to Eric Luthi and the editors at Rue Scribe for accepting this piece and several others.
Beer Bottle Suizen
No rules apply here. I blow
into the empty bottle and achieve
silence. Tilting it, I adjust my mouth’s
shape and blow across the glass lip,
receiving a flicker of tone in return.
Repeat. More of the same. Discarding
the vessel, I open another, drink deeply.
Become the emptying.
* * *
Note: Suizen (blowing zen) is the practice of playing the shakuhachi (traditional Japanese bamboo flute) to attain self-realization.
“Beer Bottle Suizen” first appeared in Subterranean Blue in March 2020.
The End of Something
I would never pin this silence
to a board, but her anger tempers
sunset, and my response remains
contained. The paper stars
I nailed to the bookcase rustle
when the door opens. She
swallows wine, I sip tea
and offer no explanations.
“The End of Something” first appeared in Volume 3 of Lamplit Underground. Thank you, Janna Grace, for taking these pieces.
Lamplit Underground is a beautifully illustrated publication. Please take a look!
Before September
In that before-September haze I knew
the birds’ names but not their language,
I saw green in the distance while grass
grew tall and light never lingered.
Questions cratered my moons. Answers
hid between sunbursts. My lips formed
soundless words and glass crunched
underfoot everywhere I walked.
Nothing sparkled under the skies.
Even gemstones and feathers in morning
dew dulled the day’s arc, printing
their notes of lonesome protest in rock
shade and tree droop, in acquiescence,
in quietude. And then you spoke.
* * *
“Before September” first appeared in The Field Guide Poetry Magazine. Thank you to editor Amanda Marrero for taking this piece.
Self-Portrait as Glass
Find form in chaos, precision
in the random. This door,
this flask, this lens. A jar
on the hill. I look through
and see myself staring back,
thinking of sand and salts
and the durability of love
in this transparent world.
But I am obsidian, a dark
iris of volcanic fire and
debris. Try as you will,
you’ll never touch my light
.
“Self-Portrait as Glass” first appeared in Windows Facing Windows Review.
O at the Edges 