Tag: Louisville

poetry

after reading the District’s reopening plan

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after reading the District’s reopening plan

tonight I am picturing
my sons
in half-empty rooms
of masked children
their shoes rooted to the floor
amidst evenly-spaced desks

how could they endure
not being able to move
or play
or eat?

tonight I am picturing
my sons
listless in our living room
realizing education
is such a small part
of school

how could I ask them to go
another year without friends
another year home with us
another year far from
what they know?

but I want to keep them safe –
how can I anticipate
what they’ll most loathe
about next year?

poetry

waiting for kingbirds

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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

poetry

revolutions

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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

poetry

July on the Plains

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July on the Plains

you go east
tumbling out of the mountains
just like Clear Creek
but before you hit the malty smell of Coors
turn north
skirt the tilted tablelands
where the ground ruptured
while birthing mountains
and now the prickly dark-ever-green
of forest
has given way
to the stiff serrated-yellow-green
of grass –
you don’t need
the window down
to sense the heat rising in waves
from the baking land,
you feel it inside, too –
setting things on edge
bringing you one step closer
to boiling over