A cardinal sat within the junipers. Brilliant vermilion outlined in slate green, he sang while I sliced up strawberries to add to pancake batter. I had promised you pancakes for breakfast. I keep my promises. Butter melted on the griddle. I scooped out batter, carefully I poured it down on the hot surface. It hissed
I want to take you there, to this house, quiet like the woes of the strong, thirteen trees my grandfather planted, three rose shrubs, gul mohrs that lined the compound wall, curry leaves for grandmother’s kitchen, a henna plant, for her hair It was the parijat that brought grief there the tree of sorrow, its
On his knees with Christ during a lull in the fighting— kills with the same hands he prays with
Father “Joey” gave us a blow-job for christmas: It was his unique gift for all fifteen castraltos in the boy choir at St. John’s. We took turns ducking into his private sanctuary, but not one of the boys Father blessed came out smiling—
I spoke to my trauma; It cried for a mother who once sheltered him, now caught in dementia I spoke to my trauma; It reeked of needles jabbed into my waist by disorderly orderlies of a behavioral health unit I spoke to my trauma; it spoke of being arrested while manic, helpless, and then being
Let me sow love, I state before apathy, the indifferent touch I grasped, blanching forth the bone of its chill, profligate and scant bespeaking warmth, the bravura of style— let me not give up this day without redemption. Here, I persevere as refugee, perchance, in someone else’s field? It’s dark, for sure, the way is
We wait for hours watching the dark unfurling toward us, unsure if it will land here at all whether it carries thunderstorm or haboob It smells like rain bittersweet cocktail of sandstone & blossoms still damp and quickening in the air over ten thousand years It’s why we wait for rain tornadoes of dust don’t
In the wild open west, flakes keep falling Like myriad baby angels knocked down from Paradise Blurring the landscape behind the vision Hunting each consonant trying to rise above The ground. The day is brighter, lighter & Softer than the feel. Soon there will be Dirty prints leading to everywhere (or nowhere) & no one
To be a matter when there’s no question Or not to be a question when nothing really matters To sing with a frog squatting straight On a lotus leaf in the Honghu Lake near Jingzhou To recollect all the pasts, and mix them Together like a glass of cocktail To build a nest of meaning
After a long time we danced together last night not agile as we once were the main aim was touch, we tried a waltz and chandeliers glimmered, the box step suited us fine the stars whirled by; as we went to bed the flag on the Point was dancing a faster beat, in the middle
