poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
the cache in the cellar
spirit away
this bit
and that
in case
you need them
later
hide them
in the cellar
behind
the jars of
tomatoes
you bought
last winter
when you
thought you’d
like to make
sauce some
weekend
then
if you’re ever
feeling low
you can creep
down
the cellar stairs
with
a flashlight
late at night
when
everyone’s
sleeping
scoot the jars
out of the way
and look at them
sitting there
in their dusty
glory
16 December 2013
Oak Street
anywhere
(for Bernie and John)
who wouldn’t want to get into the police box
tie your fate to the whims of a mad explorer
touch down everywhere and everywhen
never quite knowing what lies beyond the door
my older son says he wouldn’t want to go into space
which makes me sad, because as a child (and even now)
I wanted to go into space more than almost anything
but he’s grown up in a world without human spaceflight
a time when we’ve stopped reaching for the stars
(an idea even Casey Kasem understood)
when we’re content to limit our vision to what’s easy
rather than set our sights on what’s just beyond reach
so, with no real-life exploration to inspire us
I’ll do the next best thing — I’ll give my boys a box
that’s bigger on the inside, that can go anywhere
and I’ll use it to show them they can go anywhere too
15 December 2013
Oak Street
saturday evening vignette
the teacups washed, dried, put away
all the chopsticks in the same direction
bottoms up in a plastic cup
the counter cleaned, bare, promising
a mug of hot chocolate cooling on the desk
outside, the distinct lines of cars blurring
under the snow that’s been falling since morning
inside, the radiators wash the room with warmth
enough so that I’m in a short-sleeved shirt
unshowered, glasses on, pausing between words
as I try to capture some small piece of this day
before placing it gently on a shelf with its siblings
14 December 2013
Oak Street
memories of former lovers
Clyde McPhatter’s voice hovers
in the air like the ghost
of every old lover, even
the ones whose faces
you can’t quite picture,
but about whom you
remember some small
thing — the perfume she
wore; the soft pink of
her lips and the little mole
beside her nose; how
she’d laugh at your jokes
then take your arm
as you reached the side-
walk and headed toward
the subway; the way her
hands shook after making
love; the slightly bitter
taste of her skin from the
lotion she used; the blue
in her eyes like the promise
of an ocean voyage —
and you weave those
memories into a blanket
that keeps you warm at
night as the Drifters
sing you to sleep.
13 December 2013
Oak Street
the receptionist’s prayer
Dear Lord,
I am so tired of hearing
this pompous man talk about
how back in his day no child
would have ever spoken the
way today’s kids speak or how
he had to turn off some movie
because of “bonkadebonk”
language or how he knows
it’s a good day because he isn’t
listed in the obits in the newspaper
I mean there’s a limit to the amount
of smug self-righteousness I
can handle in one sitting
after a whole day of his holding
court in the waiting room, perched
on the arm of one of the easy chairs
I’m ready to hurl him into traffic
and turn up my music so I can’t
hear the resulting crash of metal
and also please give us world peace
Amen.
12 December 2012
Oak Street
in the parking lot of Kildare’s
a light snow was falling
as the music ended
just enough that we
spent a few extra minutes
seeing each breath
as we brushed off our cars
and although I complain
about the ice and the cold
I was conceived in the heart
of a New England winter
and first fell in love as the snow
piled in mighty drifts high
on the southern shore of Lake Ontario
all those many years ago
11 December 2013
Oak Street
say I’m a Buddhist
say “I’m a Buddhist”
not to identify your-
self to others but to
identify yourself to
yourself
5 December 2013
Oak Street
the boy studies piano and magic
for Nico Soffiato
he studies both so that when he presses
a key, he can make everything disappear
whatever happened in school, anything
said to him on the playground, the bus
all the cares that have newly arrived on
his nine-year-old shoulders, unexplained
he puts one finger down, a tone rings out
the sound moves around the room like
an eraser, leaving nothing in its wake
but itself, pure and clear and honest
the boy closes his eyes, feels the music
seep in through his skin like a soft rain
the kind that gets down deep beneath
the plants, down to the rivers that run
where no one can see, like the stream
that is already forming inside the boy
then the note fades — abracadabra —
everything returns, but better
4 December 2013
Oak Street
I watch him fall to the floor
see the light overtake his face
when it fades, he is born again
3 December 2013
Oak Street
/ / /
This is the kind of poem you write after finally finishing the William Hartnell era of Doctor Who.
Leave a CommentI awoke beside an open notebook
while the radiator gurgled away
the sharp bite of a December night
2 December 2013
Oak Street
nearly midnight on a Sunday
it’s nearly midnight on a Sunday
the time when I start wondering
who’ll next be beside me when
it’s nearly midnight on a Sunday
when the snow is blowing against
the window and the bed creaks as
we move closer under the blankets
skin on skin, warm and content
1 December 2013
Oak Street
the streets are full of shouting
in the southern college town
where the last second counted
30 November 2013
Oak Street
[Photo: Melissa Humble, Auburn University Photo Services]
Leave a Comment
For quite some time after she
boarded the plane for Las Vegas
I was obsessed with books about
time travel, hoping that some-
where in their pages I’d find
a second chance to choose to go.
Years later she told me that she’d
cried all the way across the country.
I hadn’t had the luxury of tear-filled
days when it happened, so it wasn’t
until that phone call, as we finally
realized that our time had passed
forever, that I sprawled across the bed
and wept.
29 November 2013
Oak Street
you can kick only so many people
off your remote desert island
before you wake up under a palm tree alone
28 November 2013
Oak Street
the shrill screaming of contestants
on The Price Is Right
as they are fed into the wood chipper
27 November 2013
Oak Street