Watermark

The Shoelaces of Love

   

Respectable black, or

sporty white? The black

with red racing stripes?

Maybe.

 

Yellow? Cheerful, but

a bit naive. Butterflies,

hearts, flowers? Not

my thing.

 

The old ones were slightly

frayed, but functional, until

the dog peed on them.

 

Baby blue? Too sweet.

Navy blue? Too staid.

 

Here are some striped

with the colors of sports

teams. Not for me.

 

Plastic in rainbow colors?

Too trendy. Neon pink?

Garish. Lime green?

Nope.

 

Those cheap ones broke

while I was tying my shoe.

 

Perhaps I’ll just

go barefoot.

       

Harvest

 

In preparation for the lean season,

I gather my memories. Some ripe

and sweet as childhood, others

in neglected, unwatered corners,

 

withered and stone-hard. Some

offer themselves freely, some hide

in thistles and thorns. This basket

grows heavy. Winter is coming.

 

But not today.

    

    

Binky

 

 

My little dog had a binky, a soft blue toy he carried everywhere,

upstairs & down, inside & out, into his crate at bedtime, & if he

lost it, he was frantic, tiny black dustmop searching every-

where, coming to me with pleading eyes, but then last week

he really did lose it, perhaps – filthy old thing – tossed by cleaners

or forgotten & buried in two feet of snow, so finally he chose –

instead of the identical blue toy, purchased at the same time

from the same place – a neon pink rubber ball, carried about

in the same way, with the bonus that he can play with it himself,

drop it from the chaise or the top of the stairs & tear off chasing,

but yesterday he left it outside & when he went to collect it,

it had frozen & he couldn’t keep it in his mouth, picked it up,

dropped it, came back to beg me to get it for him, so finally

I put on my coat and boots & went out to get it myself & it was

so cold it burned my hand & as I stood from picking it up, moving it,

warming it from hand to hand, I realized this is so human, so like me,

this terrible attachment to inessential things, even things that burn,

not only things, but people, wanting that person, that man, him him

him, I want him, even if I’m burned by his coldness.

 

 

Ice

   

The icefield stretches beyond

viewing. Buried within, bodies

of insects and animals. Forgotten

wars. It melts, freezes, melts.

 

At the edge, a picnic celebrates  

the end of civilization. An animal

turns on the spit. Another awaits

the slaughter. Humans dance,

 

praying to their multiple gods.

Bells and tambourines ring.

Balloons and dragon kites

decorate the sky. Soon, all

 

will drown, sink down in salty

water, freeze, melt, freeze.

 

 

 

Reject

 

 

Today we viewed the holos of the new

people. If they are people. Their bodies

are vertically elongated. They move

on two appendages. This is the only

thing about them we can admire, such

amazing balance.

 

They are otherwise awkward, ugly.

They have no fur, except a bit

at the top of their bodies. Their skin

is dull, with some tonal variety, but all

sand, dust, soil. They wrap up  

in artificial color.

 

They do not speak. They communicate

with sound waves produced by their

bodies. The exo-linguists insist this

is language. Though the upper limbs

have moveable appendages,

apparently they cannot dance.

 

They have no claws. Their teeth

are blunt and dull. Their skin has no

protection, no fur, no scales, no

thick beautiful hide. They cannot

run, but only stumble quickly. Despite,

or perhaps because of this,

 

they are immensely violent. We have

duels, yes; and doubles. But these

others engage in crowds. Dozens,

even hundreds at a time; and these

contests are unregulated and are not

evenly matched.

 

They kill each other from a distance,

from safely high above the field,

one can – and does – kill many.

Even from across the planet, one

will kill thousands with no risk to itself.

All this without cause or benefit

 

that we can discern. They require

two individuals with differently made

bodies to reproduce. Such mating need

not be mutually accepted. Even this,

with them, is often violent, involving

weaponry and wounding.

 

They live on a full and abundant

planet. But they live as if in poverty.

They strip the life from the skin

of their world. They strip the life

from each other. I call on you,

all my kin, to reject this contact.

The Last December

 

I am in the last December.

Those who have traveled

this far feel the coldness,  

the freeze in the joints,

 

the stiffness of limbs.

I have seen companions

sit down, at last, finally,

on the ice, gesturing

 

the rest of us on. We

go on. Slow and stumbling

on numb feet, we carry

our frost-bitten hearts

 

through winter. Holding

fast to each other, we go on.

   

Winter

  

 

I cannot protect it.

The Constitution.

The Bill of Rights.

The planet: tigers,

elephants, bees.

All the children

of the world.

 

I feed these small

dogs, these cats,

myself. I turn up

the heat against

this mountain

winter. Ice blades

hang from the eves.

 

My narrow life.

 

  

Poem-A-Day #29 & #30

   

#29 Prompt: fantastical

 

today is a day of sharp edges

red roof against bright sky

a fence’s iron arrows

pointing to infinity

 

nestled between

the flamingo’s pink wings

we flew

 

moon still pale

in the west

lending its color

to snow on blue mountains

 

we were children then

blond and rosey

with sun and dream

 

the sun’s arc

yellowing

the greening

of maple and birch

 

we are tumbling now

curled into our bodies

falling still falling

 

 

#30 Prompt: call it a day 

 

this budgie sings 

in his cage 

    & i in mine 

            poem after poem 

 

     

Poem-A-Day #28: settled

    

had it been on offer

i would have settled for less

cantaloupe on a white plate

a single-occupancy room

 

had it been on offer

the kindness of strangers

a single-occupancy room

the kiss of your mouth

 

the kindness of strangers

is a weight on the heart

the kiss of your mouth

mangos and lemons

 

is a weight on the heart

a blessing or curse

mangos and lemons

one narrow bed

 

a blessing or curse

an unanswered prayer

one narrow bed

a window that opens

 

an unanswered prayer

the sound of your voice

a window that opens

lilacs in spring

 

i would have settled for less

had it been on offer

the kiss of your mouth

had it been on offer

  

Poem-A-Day #26 & 27: water & monster

   

Day 26 prompt: water 

 

We make no graves today.

We scatter your ashes, and yours

on the water, on the high desert.

Let the wind take them

as the wind took you 

stealing flesh from your bones

until bones was all you were.

Bones. Ashes. Wind.

    

Day 27 prompt: monster

 

Crow’s feet

we call them.

Foreshadow

at the corner

of still-bright

eyes. Even

as children

we knew

it was there.

Waiting.

Under the bed.