truce (a love poem)
because your unbeing is possible
today in the middle of our muddle about
showers
I collapse
fall like a drop
onto your bed
and surrender
this is so dumb for us to be arguing about
I throw in the towel
and, disarmed, you agree and
we cease
to struggle
both knowing how now will be then
and not wanting to look back wistful
disappointed in ourselves and our carelessness
not wanting to squander love’s warmth
on righteousness
disengaging the knot
I am removing myself from the acrimonious thread
twine me instead with peaceful warp and weft
shuttle me across kind words and upright neighbors
comb the nettles from the discourse
plait our disparate views
into one woven future
Hummels on the Doorstep
no judgment on the unclaimed Hummels,
one disaster after another decreasing the importance
of the ceramic girl with the geese
and the boy reading,
demoted to the role of luxuries
(which they already were –
post-WWII knicknacks
celebrating not only
a rapidly disappearing pastoral past
but, also, the fact that
you didn’t expect disaster
to rattle him, her, or
any other china figurines,
no fiery bombs that day –
a luxurious certainty
that’s chipped and cracked now)
tradeoffs
to drink from the reservoir
means to taste ash
from the two foot drifts
that ring its shore
to drink from the pipe
means to taste pure nothing
but to drink nothing
when there’s maintenance on the line
to scrub the reservoir water
means to taste pure nothing
but to suffer rashes from the chemicals
when you or your children bathe
to dredge the reservoir
means to mostly drain it
spreading the ashy water
to the other ponds in town
to drink from Louisville’s water
means to taste pure nothing
and keep healthy skin
but beg from a neighbor
whose patience may strain
to not drink
means to die
eating from a poisoned earth
what’s on the ground
will be in the air
what’s in the air
will be in the water
what’s in the water
will be in the earth
what’s in the earth
will be in the chard
what’s in the chard
will be in us
but it’s such an imperfect world anyway
plastics already inside us like albatrosses
endocrine disruptors and lead from the windowsills
plutonium from Rocky Flats or Fukushima or Chernobyl
or whatever else is going to happen in Ukraine:
we’re porous and poisoned already
but to not sow
to not reap
to not eat from our own patch of earth
might damage our hearts more
than the dust of someone’s incinerated fridge
(I believe,
but don’t know)
saying goodbye to a little spark
he’s all in red
toddling quickly and confidently
telling us all of his favorite things
and we all have smiles
and pained expressions
because none of us care enough
to stop what will happen next
incontrovertible evidence
finding the first burned bit
at our own house
under the rosebush:
charred weightless foam
Happy Birthday Darrah
Darrah burns
to do more be more make more heal more
she smashes expectations
splinters them to shards
she shapeshifts
recreates herself her place our world
eagle finds her
and she laughs with him
no matter how cruel the world
how harsh the day
she keeps offering
words earth seeds sweetgrass smoke
sometimes spirits stalk her
and she doesn’t say no
no she says yes and yes and yes
and we tremble at her pain
we humbly tremble at her power
today we honor all that unfolded
all the souls that gave her breath
all the days that amassed
to yield the gift of her birth
postcard to the sun
heart to sun
its fire heating my core
I warm to what’s star in me
consumed, consuming
thinning into flares that sometimes
destroy the neighborhood
prayer to end procrastination
my son rattles off his high school deadlines
with certainty
positive he’ll get it all in on time
oh Lord
may I sit down
with a clear heart
and hours of untasked time
to subtract out the use tax money
and write the overdue
or early
(depends how you look at it)
grant report
may I cheerfully pound out what’s needed
and then sleep
untroubled by doubt’s cold flames
