nothing serious

it’s gotten so I like being alone
I can sit with a book
in a crowded square and
become its fictional character
disappear into its story
looking up a long while later
only to discover it is the crowd
that has disappeared

what begins as imposition of
a will greater than yours
mine
becomes yours
mine
and you come to like it
not loneliness
but only-ness
living the private life
I realize now I’ve always had
trouble separating me from you

but there are times when
it all creeps into need
a subtle desire for someone
to share one or two of
my moments
nothing serious
just someone to
talk to

someone
whose hair
dances amber with her every step
someone
to hold my hand
and my eyes
to enjoy an alfresco moment
at some sidewalk café
nothing serious
just someone
to pass the time with

I’d cook her dinner
one of these summer nights
later we could sit out back
listen to the creek play with
the frogs and the crickets
and on that hot summer night
she could lie with me under a thin sheet
nothing serious
just someone to share my
troubled sleep

Nothing permanent
though I wouldn’t mind
having someone around
some of the time
most of the time
someone who will be true
wants to be loved
adored even
and someone who will be
there when I close my eyes
one last time

nothing serious

that last light bulb

I no longer believe in time
this physics article I read
convinced me of what I had
long suspected
that in spite of the clock in my head
life is really just one event
after another

though I’m not quite ready
to give up on space yet
I’ve begun looking to the future
and some potentially linked experiences
that will likely serve
as milestones
along my timeless road

take the light bulbs I just bought
the package tells me they
last seven you-know-what’s
given even a generous count
five are all I need to buy
I’ll be dead before I can screw in
that last light bulb

then there’s my favorite cereal
looks like I’m going to need
something around eight hundred boxes
and four hundred jugs of milk
before that final event
gets here

but I’m getting morbid
death’s not the only important
thing in life
of course the closer you get
the more consecutive events
the more
it seems like it

so looking on the bright side
of things
if I pass on the next
eight hundred and seventy-five
slices of bread
I will eventually be lighter
by about twenty-five pounds

certainly I don’t want to forget those
short-runs of occurrences that
line up like so many dominoes
if I drive my car two hundred and
sixty-one round trips
accounting for overtime and holidays
I can pay the rent
buy my meals
keep each of those light bulbs burning

don’t want to forget the people
in my life
my dentist says if I will brush
and floss twice daily
let him clean my teeth
on sixty more
equally spaced visits
I can keep them
my teeth

of course there’s our son
he’s a good kid
already has all this time and space
stuff figured out
what I haven’t figured out
is on how many more occasions
he will need to borrow money
it’s almost enough to make me
believe in time again

and then there’s dance lessons
at the rate I’m going
I will need four thousand
six hundred
eighty lessons
before I get half way decent
but if you saw my dance teacher
well
I’d do twice that many

so far
only one anticipated event
has defied my
calculations
I wonder
how many more years
it will take before
I stop loving
you

should you fly

if you would sing
sing loud
or sing soft
but sing
for a voice in song
brings a new season

were you to dance
fast or slow
matters not
just dance
for this is how the gods
pass
their time

but should you fly
fly far
fly away old man
loose this earth from your
feet
go find your sky

yet dare you sing
only to have your voice lose its timbre
and while dancing stumble
if you fall to earth broken
as so many before you

deny it
accept no proof
turn from all you believe real
then raise your voice
climb to your feet
unfold your wings
once more

and
sing out
dance the night

take flight!

Cemetery

(tribute to Raymond Carver)

A walk among the dead
Late
Cold
Black
Studying my options for eternity
When your clean warm hand breaks ground
takes mine until the living sun chases the night.

fire

Life
a raging fire
burns
a path to
passion
love yet

a spark explodes
above the forest’s
canopy
leaps
races leaf and
limb
outstretched arms

ignites a flame
and unquenchable
fire
reaches for the sky
dares even
heaven

in the end
clouds rupture
release their black
torrent
the
firestorm contained
night falls upon
its devastation

Twenty
green pills
douse the embers that remain.

Garage Sale

I’m selling off much of my life today and hers
by rights. It’s the day before mother’s day
and mine is seven hundred miles away.
Our son’s is twice that far.
With some other guy’s mother.

There isn’t much of a turnout. Which is fine
with me. I just sit there and listen to the music
I brought down from the house.
Write poetry. And think back on all the other days
before mother’s day.

That pretty cotton skirt I bought her in Seattle?
Some woman in sweat pants took it first thing
this morning. About three sizes too large.
Her, not the dress.

The sled went next. The guy gave five bucks for it;
wanted to know if it worked.
Yeah I told him, but you need snow.
Oh.

Here comes my neighbor from next door. This guy’s
had cancer and lived through it. Real bad cancer.
We had some trouble a while back but I went
to the hospital and made peace with him.
Just in case he died.

Makes his way through dog-eared paperbacks,
old car parts and a table of worn-out jeans and sweaters.
Wants to know if I’m having a garage sale.
For chrissakes!
Look in the dictionary next to the
word bore, you’ll see his picture.

There’s something fascinating about people who will
rummage through anyone’s life as long as it’s
a Saturday or Sunday. And it doesn’t cost
more than a buck. Do they know that’s the dress she
was wearing the night I asked her to marry me? The down
jacket my other neighbor just carried off? That
was from our first Christmas here.
That bedspread?
We must have made love
under it a thousand times.

But most of life is met and lived in the ordinary and it
is there the extraordinary finds me. This woman,
pretty, a redhead, acts like she’s looking
for something; she is. Keeps sneaking glances at me. I need
the practice so I start talking to her. Turns out
we have some things in common. I like women,
redheads, she likes old drunks and
shy men.

Then she’s sitting down reading some of the things
I’ve written. It reaches her; the work. The parts I won’t sell,
on paper, that’s what I have to tell her.

She’s crying.

One
thing leads to another and we have our arms around
each other. Just holding on.

Dear God, don’t let it end!
For that thousand-year moment. For the first time in months I feel
safe and loved. And for that long moment
I am at peace.

People are just standing there, watching us.
I want to tell them all to leave; take her upstairs,
get to know her better.

I’m married . . .

. . . she whispers.

Everyone has gone. I’m boxing up the last of my life,
the stuff my new friends didn’t carry away. As I count the
money they’ve left, I find one has paid with hope; in exchange
for a small item of sadness I no longer needed. It’s starting
to rain but all I feel is sunshine inside; it takes me
all the way through to tomorrow.

You see, those people left parts of their lives with me.

pillow

I still have your pillow
you know
it’s not in the best of shape
given my restless sleep
and it could use a good cleaning

I’ve kept it because it reminds
me of our time of love
and its passing
each night before sleep takes me
I imagine I can smell your soft hair

I often think of you
and yes
still dream of you but it isn’t like then
when all my dreams included both of us
day and night

the story behind that pillow
stays with me even today
how you had a seamstress take two
and make one
sort of like what god does
with lovers

there were nights when
you fell asleep first
sinking into that thick down purse
just after making love
and I would lie propped upon one elbow
and listen to you softly breathe
the breath of love satisfied

I listen to music now
alone
while I drift away
just like when I was a kid
you probably wouldn’t approve
it always distracted you

I suspect you know I stopped praying
and it still feels odd
like sleeping without a net
but then
waking up the next morning
no longer seems all that important

I think god tired of hearing
only your name on my lips
with that onslaught of broken prayers
those very few years ago
as much in the name of love
as hate

there’s always a difficult dream
at first
a nightmare I guess
often I yell or moan as
I come out of it with a start
and of course I still snore
but I only wake me now

there are many things
lovers do when love is
taken from them
deserted them
things that help them remember
help them forget
or sometimes both

I’m no different I realize
for of all the truths I question
this one needs no prove
I loved you
there’s just no better way to say it

it looks like I need to add more
feathers to that pillow
but I draw the line
there
your nightgown has gone
to some deserving person
who needed it

reap this

he follows me everywhere I go
it’s not like it’s some secret
after all why hide
when everyone pretends
not to see you

I duck through a door
take a seat
a little off the top Ray
clean up the sides
he watches through the window
from a bus stop across the street

at the market I buy a couple of
frozen dinners
a gallon of milk
moving down the meat aisle
he runs a hand
across the prime and cheap cuts alike

guy at the end of the line
goes gray
as my shadow
gently pushes in front of him
doesn’t buy a thing

it used to bother me
a few years back
thinking he was looking for me
just the same I’d act like he wasn’t
pretend like the rest of you

so now he’s back
walking along behind me
but this time I’m not afraid
although I have to admit
he’s starting to get on my nerves

but I like his style
black’s my favorite color too
goes with my hair
don’t know the color of his
but the hood’s a good touch anyway

I wait on him
he catches up at the light
we look both ways
before crossing
puts his cold hand on my shoulder
like we’re old friends

come on I say
I’ll buy you a cup of coffee
he isn’t much for talk
and that’s okay
he’s a good listener
I like that because
I’ve got questions
and I want answers

you been doing this a long time
ever get tired of the whiners
praying
trying to cut a deal
asking for more time

and what about my soul
I thought you guys were
going to go at it
decide who gets it
I was betting on him
but it seems you got nothing to worry about
he hasn’t put up much of a fight


he just sits there
sipping cold black coffee
pretends I’m not even alive
I’m fed up with this shit
get a life I tell him
take your best shot
reap this
gesturing in his empty face

you’re in over your head pal
there’s easier pickings outside
screw with me and
I’ll have your job
and start following you

all he can do is shake his head
so I get up
walk out the door
head back up the street
hell with him
he can leave the tip

I get about a block away
and look back
he steps onto the sidewalk
looks my way
starts following again
but I can tell he’s holding back
not sure he wants my kind
where he comes from.

driving with my eyes closed

I admit it wasn’t my first option
hadn’t even become a choice
until I had nearly given up the idea entirely

but there I was
somewhere between the
moon and the sun
driving with my eyes closed
life and death hovering
inches above the asphalt

it wasn’t so bad
the car was a good one
handled well and was comfortable
though I wish I’d bought
something other than brown

and inexplicably
unimaginable peace overtook me
in the midst of chaos I sat back
let my skull sink into the headrest
eyes closed
and surrendered to the unknowable

there were
no attendant gods
no heaven in which to rest hope
no more questions to ask
none to answer
where once conscious thought traveled
now came the rhythm of the road
its music moving up through wheel and axle
steel frame
up through shoes and bones
finding at last its way to my core
Heidegger and Einstein waited
as I was sucked across their bridge

spirit
now freed from its soul
slipped through
that fabric that divides
one universe from the next
it was then
just before death
that I truly came alive
and rather than dying
I was being born

all are new to me
and I marvel
living amongst your shadowlike host
for here I have learned to love redheads
experience rooms spinning with dance
and found I enjoy telling stories

but times still aren’t all that good for me
had to let the brown car go
the payments were just too steep
I’ve got a little black job now
my favorite color
of course
though it doesn’t handle like
that old sedan

and I am alone

understand
I’m not complaining
just don’t want you to worry
should you see me
with eyes closed
bobbing and weaving
down some long
long stretch of highway

I just want to stay in practice.