Tag: Los Lagos

poetry

cuttings

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cuttings

one small olive-green leaf
with waxy white bloom
laid gently on a soft bed of soil
will not rest
first it will root
leaf meristem will morph
become what is needed
for this time and place
discover how to grow down
into the deep silent dark
how to become acquainted
with the ways of worms
the frequencies of underground sound
life without wind sun stars
the pressure and exactitude
of finding each fine fissure
where the tiniest root hair might take hold
and then, only after
leaf has tied itself to earth,
it will go back to stretching
trying the feel of new aspects
finding a way to elevate
the flow of energy
to enter the upright world again
with the exhilaration of becoming
more than the world knew
when one first awoke

poetry

disappearing act

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disappearing act

my favorite part of the concert
is when the house lights dim
my body melts into the seats
and my form becomes invisible presence
I’m there and transported
a silent witness
until my hands are invited
to beat the air into wild approval
percussive acknowledgement
of what the souls on stage have wrought
that we are here together
in this moment in this place
in this desire to see and be seen
to make something new
and be part of the making

poetry

walking with you

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walking with you

I like walking with you
talking about the plots of our books
and my grumbling knees
while the sun burns down on us
and we take in lava and snow
and avoid massive flies
(while we also avoid complaining
about massive flies)
and plan out which bebidas frias
we will request from Café Thomas
at the end
oh yes
there are so many things
I’ve liked today
but the most refreshing of all
is walking with
you three boys

someday probably all we’ll remember is how
we went up the side of that pointy volcano
in Chile one time –
that was a good day –
but for right now
while it’s all still fresh and textured
and I can see the horses on the trail
and the abandoned hut on the slope
and how I cut the switchbacks
and how you didn’t want to meet the Americans,
while I still know why it was a good day,
I’m going to put some of it down right here,
knowing we’ll likely never go back

poetry

Llanquihue

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Llanquihue

in the postcard-perfect panorama
surrounded by white peaks
that sometimes glow red
all is well –
grebes dive
and the mist does not descend –
at least
not right now

poetry

lone votive, Monte Calvario

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lone votive, Monte Calvario

one candle
in a grey corner
when the wind is wailing
flickers warmth
it grows from an old
white wax mound
reassuring us all
that before long
someone will come
with a little more light
and strike the next match

but I don’t feel warm
in its presence
only anxious to leave
before I can witness
the wind whip it away

poetry

museless

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museless

I don’t have a muse
someone outside this realm
who whispers words to me

even so
sometimes my antennae go up
and quiver saying
right now the universe
is ready to reveal something
if only I stop
and leave myself at least as open

sometimes I feel a little lonesome
with no otherworldly guide
only this exceedingly wonderful
boatload of beings
each pointing a way
in fallible tones
not possibly conflated
with the certainty of madness

poetry

the specific sadness of my father’s legs laid bare

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the specific sadness of my father’s legs laid bare

my father’s legs
bent together knees left
wasted bony
too long to lie straight
in the hospital bed
shins covered with claret bruises
his feet in blue protective booties
heels hidden by white dressings
his skin too thin
to take all the lying around

after visiting hours
my sister and I
apply pressure to
our own open wounds
with a bottle of red

poetry

axe

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axe

he loves so deep
any no hurts
so he says yes
yes yes yes yes
take everything

one day
he may see
too many yeses
harm the beloved
like that damned
Giving Tree
that always left me
feeling hollowed out
shivering
at just how heartless
one-sided love could be

poetry

manners

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manners

in Puerto Varas
nonstop dogs and parakeets
all day/night long
until the moment I close my eyes
then mercifully
they all go quiet simultaneously
and I hear nothing more –
one more miracle
of a brain that knows
when I’ve had enough,
lies to my body to just bring rest –
until the instant my lids open to sun
when the whole rough chorus
sings the day awake

poetry

on not changing

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on not changing

i

I love it all
even the way
I can’t say no

ii

buckets full
overflowing even
some spills over
does everyone good

iii

some days
there’s even more patience
than the day demands –
that’s when we laugh