Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Marriage, Sometimes

Your breath this morning:
A failed cheese experiment.
Love you anyway.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Three Happinesses: Part Two

You’ll get no happy ending, and neither will I.
Bad drivers, bad haircuts, bad milk,
our lopsided loves, blown chances,
being too much and not enough.
All the hurts of age (my knees) (your hands),
the suicides of friends.

Whatever ever after you will get
is not one happiness, monolithic,
but many small ones:
a baby learning to laugh.
Bread baked by your mother,
and later, her recipe,
a sacrament.
A sudden mouthful
of kisses in the elevator,
or one tender kiss in the morning
as you’re shaking off a dream,
one that turns into your husband’s eyes,
soft with love in a rough face.
A friend’s voice.
Music.
This.

Monday, September 29, 2014

Three Happinesses: Part One

I know how it is. Darkness
seems more honest than daylight,
when we shuffle our hearts
to the bottom of the stack,
brew coffee, match socks, clock in.
If I tell you my happiness
I must be leaving something out.
So I write to you of griefs,
nakedly. But while you are
licking their salt from your lips,
somewhere that you are not looking
a songbird is taking a breath,
opening its mouth to sing.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Rockabye Baby: The Remix

My little sister was born when I was a teenager. I was so excited to sing lullabies to her. However, once I began to sing the classic "Rockabye Baby," I was horrified at the words, which I'd never really noticed as a child. Since then, I've heard a lot of other people express amused horror that our favorite lullaby depicts a baby falling out of a tree. So I thought I'd share the alternate words I made up as a 15-year-old. The tune is the same, of course, although I did add a few more syllables. Sing it aloud a couple times, and I bet you'll get the gist.

Rockabye baby, in the treetop
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
Hear the tree whisper in the soft breeze
Sunlight is falling through all the leaves
A brown birdy sings you a lullaby
Now fall asleep, out under the sky


Enjoy!


Thursday, September 11, 2014

River-dreams

The river, she dreams of oceans,
of shallow ancient seas,
Paleozoic, of losing herself
before she carved these cliffs
from yearning. Her river-dreams
rise up from the canyons
and hang here in the branches,
pearling the early world
with water, oceans in air.
Muttering in sleep,
she runs the red of an old wound,
returning to the sea.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Synonyms for Anger

The sunlight at noon:
hard, flat, and without mercy.
A bright blade against.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Your Childhood is Imaginary



Nowhere you’ve been can be home.
The paper fa├žades
of last week cannot hold you.