roses in rain
roses in rain
the smell of wild roses makes me weep
she said
conjuring the overwhelmingly poignant joy
that’s bound to put you over the edge
feet sunk into velvety dune sand
while waves build and collapse
for thousands of miles before you
soon as you slip one behind an ear
the petals fall
but the scent stays
sometimes I put a petal on my tongue
like a communion wafer
eager to embody sweetness somehow
today after the thunderstorm
they’re windblown and blowsy
petals plastered to leaves
spangled with tiny crystal balls
so heartbreakingly beautiful
I forget about trying to read the future
just tuck one behind my ear
breathe in joy all day
waiting for kingbirds
waiting for kingbirds
for near an hour
we shuttle between
cottonwood and wire fence
following sharp-winged shapes
with lemon-yellow chests
trying to learn
just who they are
I would not trade
these sixty minutes
of easy afternoon with you
for any kingdom at all
that’s just who we are
revolutions
revolutions
the ceiling fan
spins
an endless
left-handed twirl
and I could sleep
for days
except
when my lids lower
my mind spirals
along
at the intersection of
what if
and
which faults were
mine?
spent days pile up
like layers of shale:
unreadable
turning the knob, finding it locked
turning the knob, finding it locked
the tension, resistance surprises
jiggle the handle
no release
you’re not welcome
on the warm side of the door
into the earth
into the earth
today I bury
Mary & Will’s son
Patrick’s brother
my father
back to the earth
I give
the man who called me Hon
whose chest rumbled
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
in my ear every year
I bury snores that shook the house
and the click of the La-Z-Boy footrest
snapping into place
into the open ground
I put the smell of Scotch
and the crack of ice
the scent of Marlboros
and aftershave
I bury our single game of backgammon
and our many King’s Quests
here in the loam
I place Sundays
of Canadian bacon and eggs
glass Pepsi bottles
and the crossword
I bury a rough cheek
and a black fur fedora
with a jaunty red feather
old galoshes and new Buicks
under the turf
among the roots
I lower
our disappointment
yours and mine
at being who we are
today my heart heaps
soothing Walnut Creek clay
to bury the weight of trying
to ask the right questions
now I put the memory
of holding your hand
trying to undo loneliness
deep into the soil
today I bury
Ma’s grandson
Bill
my only Dad
