Lucy

The dog shows the way

The dog, because she’s blind,

Is barking at my empty recliner

Where she thinks I’m sitting.

She also thinks it’s time for dinner,

Thus the barking.

We shouldn’t be surprised,

We feed her at all different times now,

As discipline and routine are less important

Than her comfort and her calm.

She’s a terrier, she’s always been annoying,

But now she’s not even cute:

She holds her bowels

Until we leave the house,

Then does her business

On the living room rug,

A different kind of self-control,

One that says (if a dog could sob like an old woman}

“I can’t bear the loneliness when you’re gone,

Nor the fear that you’ll never return

And I’ll wait for you, hungry, in the dark, forever.”

Borderland

Borderland




If you had a crystal ball and could see deep-

Ly through the white light just before you

Died there it would be—your true life, stories

You hadn’t realized you’d sold, children

You didn’t know were happy, a mother who

Could really sing, a playful father with

Calm eyes, you were fluent in eastern

Languages, your form on the dance floor

Graceful and full of power, you were power-

Ful and had no needs, weren’t mindful, only

Smiles and breaths and hands that held

And aches that reminded you only that

You’d lived well.

Window and chair

Maples

They might spread
Like droplets
After we’ve gone
With our children broken

like pieces of chalk, their colors
Bled with scraped knees
Empty folding chairs
Where old uncles stared

beneath the sidewalk
The footsteps of
Sisters holding children
Like crisp colored gifts

Mufflers and muffs, clouds
of heat and frost.

With no children,
No suckled parents, no
Old friends, the wild maples
will snake

through angry old lilacs we
crouched toward each spring
And through the black tardrive.
Their roots will tunnel

Our collapsed home
The waiting black birds

A sense of us breathing
Oceans of golden saplings

Lifting forward, upward, beyond
to restore the Earth her forest.

Guest bathroom

I was afraid to touch anything in the guest house bathroom. The towel, not exactly feminine but a shade between rust and mauve, looked like it had been ironed or maybe never used to wipe dripping human skin and hair. The dark scrawly sink counter was perfectly dry but shone and reflected crisp images of my unkempt head and sagging chest. There was new toothpaste, new shampoo, sage soap still in white paper in a green box, a toothbrush in plastic. Three sets of switches lit recessed ceiling lamps, over the sink, over the shower, over the toilet, which had its own enclave, a small cave where one could relieve oneself without infiltrating the rest of the pure room; this toilet space had its own switch that softly sparked a quiet unseen fan to waft away the odors. A heavenly bathroom, that is, one I would only again find in heaven. I stripped self-consciously, looked around and stepped, crept through the glass door, into the shower. Not surprisingly, the stream of water was soft and strong like a mother's womb.

Taos pueblo

Went to the Taos Pueblo, breathtakingly sad and majestic and dusty on this warm day. The Indians have profound cheekbones, and many of their adobe hovels double as shops for their humble wares of homemade tomahawks, dream catchers, carved bulls and turquoise gems. The rooms are small and smoky and their mostly small and bent owners are seated by a fire stove, one with a dirty old black dog at her feet between her knees. A gentle man with smart sad eyes hesitatingly told us stories of the poor mess of his lifetime, of his son who died, of his mother who couldn't afford schooling. He apologized, "I'm a musician, well used to be, a percussionist," pointing to his drums for sale, and I felt sad I couldn't afford one. Have a lovely day, he said, they all said as we left their dusty-floored huts, and their old heartfelt stories, behind. Driving away, Carol was thrilled to spot a prairie dog in a field but then said, "If they're out in February it'll be a long dry summer for the Indians."

Seer

Borderland

If you had a crystal ball and could see deep-

Ly through the white light just before you

Died there it would be—your true life, stories

You hadn’t realized you’d sold, children

You didn’t know were happy, a mother who

Could really sing, a playful father with

Calm eyes, you were fluent in eastern

Languages, your form on the dance floor

Graceful and full of power, you were powerful

And had no needs weren’t mindful, only

Smiles and breaths and hands that held

And aches that reminded you only that

You'd lived well.

Naked

The title of the poem is all the poem needs sometimes.