Saturday, May 11, 2013
Some refuse to be coaxed
into a community garden
as the newly- tempered arugula
has learned to take its proper place on the plate
waits for evening to do its trick.
Some take way too much space.
We didn't see their habits in early Spring
their youthful blush of morning
was just a Marguerite
dreaming up lover's claims.
By Summer, their underground
suckers saw no limits, seeds
spreading like wildfire across space
choking all other life in their way.
Autumn's promise for apples and grapes
can never be fulfilled
as long as the dandelion runs a- muck
among the civilized species of the community garden.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
We shouldn't have come down this far
to this moldy basement
to find that old frame that would
grace that old bureau of
responsibilities we moved around from house to house, those
compartments of order and satisfaction we attempted to maintain
all of our lives.
Yesterdays mean more than today, we note,
looking at how young we were in those pictures; how strong and resolute we
sounded in those letters. We had a great life! Those were great days, in that red Camaro
you in that navy suit and I in that Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat, on our way to Churchill for brunch.
How much of our stuff will survive after we're gone?
How much of our parents' stuff survived the mold in their basement?
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Sitting in the parking lot
at Walmart, babysitting my youngest brothers, I want to
be invisible to my friends
and their mothers who hurry past me.
Mom and my little sisters are
rushing through the aisles picking
up food for the week.
When they return, Mom drops a bag of cheetos
on our lap, telling us to share without fussing
before stashing the groceries in the trunk.
I see people eyeing our basket
as they pass us
thinking how come
we have to support those
extra mouths with our taxes
and food stamps; thinking
it's our fault
we can't afford stuff.
I pretend I'm in church- head down so
nobody sees me in the ugly car we're in-
waiting for the service to end
the food put away
Mom in the front seat proud
she managed seven bags this week
with her food stamps.
Did you buy ice-cream, I ask.
Not this time, she says, I promised Dad I'd pick him up some beer on the way home.