Monthly Archives: March 2024

MOONSTONE BEACH, END OF THE TRAIL

 

No lone warriors left on weary ponies,

we gather at the edge of the West subdued

and yield to the fleeting moment beyond

our reach or reason—to be washed,

wave after wave, with our fears away.

 

All the people now in the picture—

I could have cropped the photo

to thirty-thousand yesteryears ago,

or by much shorter measure dialed it

to a certain future none will see.

 

Our hair is gray.

 

 

BONE ON BONE

 

All the places

I worked and played

too hard

are wearing on me

 

for this moment

I have trailed

with discarded rhymes

and poetry

 

even I don’t quite

understand

why I had to kiss

the wild so deeply,

 

why I had to walk

the fence

and dream beyond

the barbed wire.

 

 

 

 

CELEBRATION OF LIFE

 

Occasionally, neighbors become good friends,

and so it’s been with Steve and Jody Fuller, Robbin and I.

 

I am going to read a short poem that I wrote for them

when my mother was dying in the hospital back in 2010.

 

 

 

LAST NIGHT’S LEFTOVERS

 

We pray for heart attacks, Mack trucks and lightening

as our way out, trading tales of die-hard mothers

like rattlesnake stories, each triggering another –

 

pouring wine with whiskey rants to laugh

at the sad truth we can’t improve, can’t make easier,

can’t change, but in ourselves.  Out of the rain,

 

my great bay horse, a bag of bones at thirty,

paws the gate in the barn for more grain – an indignant

impatience I trained for years, my mother’s hands

 

in mine again. It’s rained five days straight,

blew the barn down, blew a tire in a rockslide,

got a ticket parked too long at the hospital,

 

and we look up into the gray wanting to escape

town and traffic, find home and recuperate

with neighbors and last night’s leftovers.

 

                                                – for Steve & Jody

 

 

 

Steve left his mark on the hearts of us all.

JOINT ACCOUNTS

 

Yesterday’s rain

runs in rivulets

towards the creek

 

across the shoulder

of the road

and growing traffic—

 

Pond Turtle shell

glistening still

with all the wild

 

totems we lay claim to

in our joint accounts.

 

SURPRISE RAIN

Mud from head to toe
before the bus to school,
how could I know

I’d never bring it home—
never be the hero
of black and white westerns.

But a lifetime chasing rainbows
has been enough
without the pot of gold.