Martial Arts
At the start of every lesson the teacher
asks, What’s your best defense
in a dark alley? Upstairs our son swings
his legs, kicking neatly like a clock
at the quarter hour, kick
kick punch into the teacher’s palms
while we wait in the bar below, knees
touching, watching the news with the sound
off. Someone is wailing but the sound
has left her body. Don’t go down
the dark alley. The kids stomp
and behind the bar the bottles
chime, a tremble
that ripples back
to the center of itself. Sirens pulse
across the woman’s face, the yellow tape
a border keeping
what no one wants to know.
My right knee against your left a small
pressure we’ve built our house around.
Everything I’m afraid of,
I’m about to name.
* * * * *
Coming Back
With keys in hand I stood
about to go in
but listening.
The sun lowering,
the tree
projected its blue
needles on my blue front door
and the porch needed
a sweep.
Some wind
lifted.
Everything
was as it seemed and also
in disguise, like
the bird
I’d never heard before saying
what while I thought.
The bent pine
working the lock.
Nearby, unseen:
What.—
Just that, for a very long time.