wait a second

 

 
I have an idea —
just add some chia seeds.
name a city in south korea.

 
listen.
you’re always reminiscing & I
think the remote is missing.

 
hush.
dont cuss.
where is the damn paintbrush?

 
goodnight.
it’ll be alright — just don’t
let the bedbugs bite.

 
when I’m alone
& all the birds have flown, I’ll
draw a teardrop on my cheekbone.

 

 

rhymezone

a stone

 

 
marks the property line
eighty paces & you’re in
my neighbor’s yard

 
that’s what the deed would say
if I could find it

 
it was so long ago we cut down
trees built a fence but now with
the irony of honeysuckle

 
that fence is falling down

 
it’s a tiny place nondescript
four rooms & nothing more
there’s a hole somewhere that

 
lets the carolina wrens in

 
it’s the third house on the right
you can’t miss it if you pass
the graveyard you went too far

 
I’ll save you some tea

 

 

a specific place

everything’s fine

 

 

I wait for heat
running cold     rinsing
brushes so of course paint &
glue stick

 
rubbing bristles between my
fingers     waiting wondering
is the heater broken       why

 
I plan a long complicated
list of fixing     things then
it’s fine     everything’s

 
fine

 
yellow & white
warm & cool
swirl pale together

 
down the drain

 

 

self-portrait metaphor

bird

 

 

you would think
you would have woken me
but no

 
you become part of my dream

 
me    running barefoot
chased by the unseen
unable to scream

 
your low mournful call
a harbinger to fog
and uncertainty

 
to escape I fall
unendingly

 
then my hand touches cool
pillow     I open my eyes
outside the window you coo

 
and still
I can’t scream

 

 

bird

bird

day seven

 

 
this
is when we think it’s
temporary

 
forsythia is yellow
grackles declare the edges of
territories

 
I hang clean wet sheets outside
because sun because wind
because —

 
a squirrel watches me

 
there’s enough salmon for dinner
and green tea    is elderberry
necessary

 
this is my home   I am alone   but

 
crows mob a hawk and she screams
this is when we think it’s
temporary

 

 

 

watching the polygons

 

when someone pours dad’s old tinker-toy box full of marbles on the roof & they spill down the sides pinging & plunking everywhere just everywhere until we can’t help but laugh even though the car & the windows & our strawberries & oh my the new azaleas

 

when the sky one-one-thousand flashes & we are caught in stop-action still frames with bette davis eyes until the giants two-one-thousand in heaven start moving their furniture lord that must’ve been a heavy chifferobe & the wind the wind oh my did you hear that wind?

 

so we sit in a bathtub with flashlights & blankets & our little dog too quiet like mice waiting we’re waiting for
 
 
technicolor

 

 

mary oliver

 

taxonomy

 

 

we knew it was
a mammal when
fur moved from
field to tree
and even though
there were mixed
fractions we
were distracted
so you went
prowling all of
us howling cat
dog coyote until
it leapt away and
back you came
classification sated
we all waited but you
said nothing knowing
something seeing
order somewhere
between sun and
shade telling us
there is a
species

 

 

kay ryan

haibun

 

 

I knew the end before she started so I laughed when she said raccoon. have you ever been to sacramento? even in the rain stars look like stars: scratches through a silvered mirror, cake crumbs on a peel-and-stick floor. the day she died I wore blue earrings. did you ever lose your keys? I get distracted by mud: the smell of worms, evidence of animals. I have crawled through the bathroom window and unlocked doors. I have picked up clumps of soaking wet leaves. I have back-tracked. do you ever hear a thing I say? it’s still raining. raining. there’s a raccoon underneath the bird feeder eating all the black-oiled sunflower seeds. a raccoon. did you hear me? I said a raccoon.


a driveway
full of finches; no one
answers the door


haibun


                              

                                      

paper lizards

 

 

after she stumbles we both stop 

it’s a tack she says picking up that tiny blue I guess kids are pulling them down she stretches to the top of the board reinserting the construction paper lizards leer and form orange-tongued hisses I nod I get it I understand

there are days when the air is so full so heavy with voices sound words metal simply pops out reptiles fall down little feet crush what gluesticks stuck together it’s hard to hear to feel your own lungs breathe you just walk on 

please save all the data to the disk

if there’s a penguin on the tray it’s snowing but no one has coats when the bell rings this isn’t a talking time we are quiet mice yet syllables rise syllables fall consonants and high-pitched vowels melt together on our tongues

the cafeteria will furnish bagged lunches

green papers wave now everyone turn face the building we don’t know we don’t get the message but what does it matter lead us back to our seats to the carpet quickly quietly now everyone sit down now everyone      breathe

the last person in closes the door





wordle 291


 

red rover

 

I dare you to
 
remember the blue
grass our bare
feet that kid
cooler than we’d
ever be parked
in his trans
am still
 
waiting on
waiting on
the thunder
 
remember
those sec-
onds stolen
between
the street
lights and
time it’s time
to go it’s
time
 
to go home
 
I
dare
you
I
dare
you
 
send tommy
right over

 

 


PAD #8 (dare)

carrot cake

 

I wish that I had
never
you don’t know one-
tenth of all
of this
 

what will it take for you to trust
what will it take for you to believe
 

remember when you knew
that fairies live in the mossy
crooks of trees
that lions just can’t wait
to be king
 

that’s what I mean
when
I tell you the
truth

that’s what I wish for
again
when
you blow out those
candles

 

 

 

PAD #5 (vegetable)

departure

by the time you read this, I will have rolled off the cliff and into the sea. when they speak of me, they will speak of a hill. they will speak of a river, thick and slow with its own gravity. they will not understand why the gentle, leveling slope was not enough. they won’t know that since the day I was born, I’ve never been able to capture my own moon.

 

a knock at the door —
these old bones that just won’t
go

 

 

 

PAD #4 (departure)

she sighs and says

 

I left my change
in the machine
 

she leaves the room
 

every one of us
makes a sound
resembling this
 

alternately we
consider the emptiness of our own
zippered pockets
 

not one of us with an extra dime to spare
 

being all possible
each day is simple
a lever
a pulley
an inclined plane
 

when she returns we have all reversed
direction

 

 

 

PAD #3 (machine)

secret

just a little
 

bag of ice
he
walked
into another one of
those things
he always
walks
into

just a little
 

disconnection
avoidance recognition
wait for the silence
to explode
a gunshot cracking
cold
air
he
listens

just a little
 

deer in the woods his
smile flashes he
grabs my hand wanting
I feel the secret
I wonder does
he know
every
cut
scars

just a little
 

 

 

PAD #2 (secret)

smoke curls through the window

this is the circle
this is the going-around
old leaves and green wood
on a cold spring night

this is how I hear you
breathing
a stolen cigarette
the silence of lifetimes

I can smell the smoke

this is the circle
this is the going-around
the part I keep holds me down

the world fits between my
fingertips smooth and open
this is how I see you
this is the circle

leaving is always
black and white