At home, they sit across from each other
like a pair of stone-silent gargoyles, when
he sighs to himself as if with remorse.
Looking up, she asks, out of politeness,
“Is something wrong?” He shakes his head, and says,
embarrassed that he had spoken out loud,
“Oh, Nothing, just thinking, at least nothing
important enough to say: just thinking.”
They watch each other with a quiet calm
like the still center of a raging storm;
each happy enough at home not to stir
up any conversations to avoid.
Slowly, they fall into their silences,
starkly alone with their thoughts together.
(April 18, 2019)
I step out the door,
Another muggy fall day:
Mules trudge through the field.
Mud slowly sucks at my step;
I shall fall and become earth.
(September 20, 2018)
I’ve never been free:
approbation and fear
a constant tap-tap
at my shoulder,
as a reminder— “No,
do not go there.
Stay inside this truth.
It’s comfortable here.”
Justly, it is never
too warm to sweat,
nor cold enough to shiver.
There are no bears here,
lost in their quandaries
as to my medial decisions.
(September 3, 2018)
In almost a religious ritual,
he castigates his niggling doubts
in a timid formality of failure.
Even now, as he folds his thoughts
neatly into another inaction,
a new desire falls softly to regret
like crumbs from a banquet table
scatter slowly across the floor.
Doubt and regret feed each other
a fetid feast lavished with fear.
He imagines a different world
free from this hunger, where he moves
forthrightly without pity, instead
of staring blankly at an empty bowl.
(March 14, 2018)
I drown in increments.
Pebbles added to my pockets,
like time, pull me to earth.
I’m bored with minutia,
the cynical laugh
in disdain’s cheap fear.
My eyes ache; shadows,
like dark angels, run
with knives between rooms,
searching for something
to clean the blood off
the brain-slicked walls.
(March 6, 2018)