Wednesday, February 25, 2015

For Ivy Annalise


Here we sit
sorting our lives
like the daily mail,
measuring our progress
by old photographs,
judging our worth
by unseen gain.
Then here you come
waited, wanted, already loved,
beautiful and perfect in your own right,
and more important than any
unseen, unfelt, unwritten belief.
That you are here,
that you are ours,
that you are loved,
forever now,
no matter.


Monday, February 16, 2015

The Woodpecker


The woodpecker brash and brawny
plans his attack on the cat food,
darting up and down and in and out,
snatching at the morsels
like avian ambrosia.
Red-hooded, white-throated, bodkin-beaked,
he flings his chirruping song into the air all around him.
How like him we are,
perpetually darting,
snatching at shards of bliss,
grasping, clutching, grabbing,
as the slivers slip ceaselessly from our hands.

White Tears

"On your record deck, you played the sound of the middle passage, the blackest sound. You wanted the suffering you didn’t have, th...