from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (8)
I don’t want
to be a salmon struggling
upstream to spawn and die
exhausted and decayed
nor
to be swept downstream
with broken branches and silt
into a churning sea
I want to be
a catfish
calm and content
deep within a silent pool
(January 12, 2020)
All day my eyes ache
from reading student essays:
Flowers grow so slow.
(October 11, 2019)
Since I am
no snake
sloughing skin,
I hide my scars
in an imagined other.
Not the obvious,
oblivious sheep,
but one more wary,
who waits
along the edge
knowing fear,
knowing
like rabbits:
one step left,
one step right,
without calculation,
equals death;
and any
volition ends
with a quick flutter
of feathers,
and the talon’s
sharp pang
lifting one
toward heaven
like a song.
(October 1, 2019)
from “Rendition of Change,” a work in progress
The old tortoise-shell cat slips
cautiously through the grass
as the storm approaches.
This-too-shall-pass provides
small comfort in the moment’s
chaos and fear. Lightning strikes
often and nearby. As rain
starts to fall, the cat watches,
motionless, from the stair.
(July 3, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” work in progress
He could force the moment,
sweep his way clear
without consequence–
He could act,
high-handed,
dismissive–
He could succumb
to his appetites,
devouring all —
and yet, he doesn’t.
(March 21, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
I wait more often
than react– more often
a squall line doesn’t form
but disperses in the hills.
I know you will
go, and I’ll remain.
(March 21, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change” a work in progressS
I sat still in the dark
on the bank of the river.
The river was rising, so I moved
to higher ground. I could not
stop the river, nor hasten
the oncoming day. Sometimes
to do nothing is resistance.
(February 26, 2019)
