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)
I found myself
without looking
for myself.
Only fools question
and question, then
doubt again.
I was there
from the start;
I simply noticed
where I had been
all along.
(January 21, 2019)
Morning light’s enough,
As my students quietly write—
How we change our world.
Young trees grow to provide shade,
As the old begin to fade.
(September 14,2018)
She picked up his bones
scattered in the yard,
and took them into the house.
Her workshop was cluttered;
so she cleaned off a spot, and
orderly stacked them up.
Days went by, then weeks,
and finally years. The bones
collected dust like mementos.
One day, stumped, she looked
up from her work, and saw
the neatly stacked dry bones.
She laughed as she remembered
him, then went to work:
drilling, weaving, balancing.
She sang as she worked, happy
at last to be creating so freely
from his humble remains.
Finished, she took what she had
made from him, and hung
it from an old oak tree.
It danced a hollow dance,
clattering as the bones clacked
together with every wind.
In the evenings she would sit,
and sip a glass of wine, happier
than she had ever been with him.
(August 7, 2018)
I’m not sure I do much,
but open doors, set up chairs,
provide a place to read,
talk, write; which is enough
and yet, is not enough
to beat back the belligerence
barking like a spittle-flecked
beast. I can’t save them
from what is to come,
nor always be there to speak
amiably into their distress,
and voiceless traumas.
But there is this room,
an open door, and a chair.
(March 27, 2018)
