I used to wish he’d lay
a hand on me, to
hold or even thrust me
down into the ground
as though I were a
shovel with a sharp
edge splitting the earth
to make room for some-
thing to grow
up
in a tortuous glory
of green and
amber light.
He never did, of
course. No bruises
we could see, but
a waifish vine
ascending by
itself.
Tag / lonliness
12 Stories, 18 years and a Thousand Times
The men and women on the street
are cheering and blowing those
things like kazoos that go
by a different name. Some
people are stuck in their
cars for the fireworks display,
sitting helplessly in rows
while the excitement happens
elsewhere. My cat is
startled by the firecrackers,
his ears back, tucking down
his whole body and then
jumping to the windowsill to
see what can be seen. He’s
on the other side of the fireplace
from us, where we’re doing the
same thing, 12 stories up, with
buildings blocking the view.
I can’t tell if we’re glad to
see the new year enter or
happy the old one is done.
I hurt you, just trying to
love, and you hurt me just
trying to be. We’ve done
this, eighteen years now.
I want your hand but
can’t find it. Maybe this
is the year we find each
other, glancing over dinner
and seeing something new
we’ve seen a thousand times
before. I miss you when we
eat apart, at the same table.
(Sometimes I really do try not to be too
Abstract)
Seen but not Heard
Seen but not heard, a
vision of silence again
and again. I think all is
new, fresh as a lime over
ice in the shade where
the dapple obscures
isolation. The quiet
follows regardless of
audience.
I can answer that
question about the poor
tree, falling alone in the
forest. The answer is
yes. Definitively yes.
Without reservation, Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
It doesn’t matter that there
are no ears and all the boles
are closed, barked poles
tightened against the wind,
all sound absorbed in the
evergreen floor.
That wail,
that crack of pain as the roots
heave great chunks of earth
and branches flail a last futile
grab for the sky, is heard
by the one that made it.
The one who’s dying knows
what death sounds like, even
after it sounds like silence.
Not Quiet Any More 