National Poetry Month: Day Four

 

Fragments

 

A friend says a tall day

he means long.

 

Clouds and clouds

and clouds

and then

a slice of sunrise.

 

Singing

singing again.

 

And the slow crawl

to dinner and sleep.

National Poetry Month: Day Three

Morning Light Again

 

Even with low clouds

even with no sun

the darkness still

slips from the scene

leaving trees dripping rain

and light

where just moments ago

there was none.

The birds don’t notice

the lack of sunrise.

They tune to a different

clock altogether.

 

April 3, 2021

 

National Poetry Month: Day Two

 

Morning light sneaks in

between relentless bird song

school bus

dog walkers

rumbling truck

like stage lights

brought up by

the most patient

meticulous hand.

 

National Poetry Month: Day One

 

Pandemic Dermatology

 

After too much time (even masked)

with too many people (even masked)

one wearing an obtrusively expensive watch

with a Trump - make america great again patch

sewn clumsily onto his camouflage backpack

one a spry old man in beret and jazz shoes

who demands to hear

his biopsy results in our uncomfortable presence

(at the word malignant we all cringe)

the dermatologist through the plastic helmet that protects

me from him and him from me

pronounces me healthy and well

and I walk out breathing the good air

grateful that my skin, what holds all of me together,

is still on my side.

National Poetry Month: Day 30

First Chair

To celebrate
despite the storm
and the hour
we clambered
into the over-lit shop
waited our turn
made our choices
tipped the pretty high school girls
and stumbled back
onto the post-rain sidewalk
scoops of cold celebration
cupped in our hands.

We walked up and back
telling the story again
when you found out
what they said
and how it felt
as our ice cream
began to melt
and disappear.

National Poetry Month: Day 29

Crashing around in the undergrowth
not even a storm can pry
these tiny circles of light from my hands.

The sun was shining.

A woodpecker spiraled the tree.

Something was lost.

Something else was found.

The work went well.

National Poetry Month: Day 28

April Showers

One good rain is enough
to turn the backyard to jungle
lush and buggy
can't take a single step
toward the garden
without a bite or a tickle
something inevitably
crawling up your leg.

The birds
cannot stop talking about it.