Like Sorrow, Or A Tune
— Finally, I show up, dirt beneath my fingernails,
telltale sign — I’m ok after all —
everything else running behind too but also on time.
Like the late spring frost that killed the dappled willow
the year my mother died, one and the same.
I grow dahlias there now; talk to her just whenever.
Is anyone else wondering what Pope Leo is up to?
I mean, in a good way. That one picture, radiant,
a young man, he couldn’t have known, could he?
I want to warn the geese in the street, but no need.
I want to give special mention to the chipmunk
at home beneath the front steps, his coat so glossy!
He ate the pansies and left a marble. Alright, fine.
Gentle grassy island of old pines and one picnic table,
can I be you when I grow up?
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True Enough
Does this butterfly want to be my friend?
Well, I’m busy in middle school again,
reading Nancy Drew at a picnic table
on a farm long quiet, sealed tight.
Summer time-travel is my specialty.
Spend the day dreaming, the night
awake, not worried but also not not,
thinking of the bear I saw here once.
Standing on his hind legs, he ate berries
I wouldn’t have even thought to want.
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Every Hour on the Hour
Church bells and honeysuckle.
Both invasive? Well, anyway, I like them.
My fake problems too: a stuck door,
literally — my own home! — and metaphorically:
the main character in need of a push.
Per usual, I’d prefer clarity without words,
so naturally turn to what I’m least suited to.
A novel should feel like you’re in good hands.
Maybe church was once this way —?
I still go, sometimes, I’ve got history;
affection for the memory is just my style.
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Things As They Are
She knows how Jesus works, said the man on the news
of his little daughter who lost her mother.
What? Turn up the volume.
Same day, I hid behind a lilac bush
to avoid nosy neighbors who thought they knew my mom years ago.
She’s in heaven now and can’t be pinned down.
If asked, I’ll say I hear from her.
Or at least drive by the ugly building where she had her nails done
(first time ever), did arts & crafts, and died.
I’ve kept one painting, wobbly blues and greens, waves and trees.
Or is it upside down? Should I turn it? Trees and sky?
Both ways look right, and wrong.
It’s weird how I’m not a little girl anymore.