a living thing

I tried to paint the moment–
gray breezes, and the lake.
I could smell our old farm

and all the memories tumbled
into some new life
like how the yeast is

so all of this is not death
what we sang and tasted and wrote
leaf showers and dry wells

Monday Random

• October is gearing up to leave us. I can see him packing, and watching the clock
• Last evening we were a couple of kids, taking a walk in the rain and picking up leaves
• A couple of years ago I took clear contact paper and made some of the leaves in our old neighborhood into placemats for Thanksgiving
• We have family coming this year for the first time in three, so that is something to be thankful for, and we are going to make enough placemats for everyone
• It’s a craft my nieces and I can do together, simple and fun

All the pieces

I have written
all of it
the pieces battered and bruised
from every time on the floor
rocking in the corner

Did you read the chapter
where I rose victorious
out of order because I want you to see it
out of place
I don’t know
what
her name is now

Hate was first
crushing soul defeat
grief kneaded with blood
but when forgiveness came in
there was hope
like miracles
like music

They were wrong
so wrong about love
not being enough
maybe they were never loved like that
(I wasn’t
for ever so long)
convinced
that
hate was bigger

But I was wrong
love
with the strength of millions
dealt a death blow
to fear
(and carelessness
and loathing)

All told
the scraps innumerable
in the thousands
sewn together one by one
with miles of unbreakable cord

Share this:

I need a friend
veracious
and true
I offer my hands
and a knack
for speaking in blue
if you steal the moon
for me
I won’t tell
on you

Nothing lasts – for autumn

 

The last roses of summer
are showing off
the bees are off their heads
oblivious to anyone else
as the last warm day envelops us
empty fountains
dark chocolate of empty dirt beds
dug up to announce
winter will come

This glorious day
not withstanding
what do you make of thriving firs
staring down at the dead hibiscus
done for now
What do you say to a stroll
kicking leaves
a cool drink from the sun

Autumn is not done yet
but as we walk, we know
that nothing las