Where did you go?

One minute there was four of us
Together in the cold white room.
You cradled in daddy’s arms,
So foggy from the pain
Meds, but rumbling still
Your recognition.

Then two vials of liquid into
Your leg and
You are gone.
He holds his hand on your
Breast as if to insist you
Stay in this place but
It doesn’t work.

The doctor nods and whispers
You are gone but, already
I heard it. The dead silence.
The ceiling comes down.

The doctor takes you from
Us and I see your
Tail hanging from the
Green fleece.
No faith abides in
Anything beyond that

Where did you go?

Read on…Where did you go?

When We are Gone

When we are gone, we leave
Behind more than emptiness.
First there is our dust, which is
Obvious. Find the dead cat’s
Fur on your pant leg. Find the
Broken friendship still
Lingering on the bookshelf.

When we are gone, all of yesterday
Asks to be re-read in
Memory. Come back, it beckons,
Into buildings desolate and
Familiar. Not empty, but
Fruitless indeed, except
Weeds that keep on
Insisting on life.

When we are gone, we eat the
Same bread differently. We
Look for old friends and find them
Only in lacquer-coated dreams. We
Wake up and see dawn’s light
More kindly, and ourselves
More or less so.
Read on…When We are Gone

Where I Do Not Know

I heard their hooves on the street where my parents live.
I heard it inside a corner of my dream and before
I even knew I was awake and climbing off the
Futon mattress and squinting night eyes through the
Blinds. And the parade of does and their
Fawn proceeded up the street as if they were
On a way to who knows maybe Lincoln Road then
Down the hill for an early start gambling
On the riverboat. I was their only
Company, me and the neighbor’s misdirected
Motion-sensing garage light that shouldn’t
Switch on just for passing traffic.

I’d been here before. Not with misplaced
Deer on my parents’ doorstep, but hearing
Footsteps on a road. Early enough before
Black cabs got to running over speed humps,
I heard metal on stone coming on and
Stumbled in the grey to spy the pair of
Equestrians chatting easily as they
Cantered down the London road at
5:30 a.m. It was summer: it must be summer
Because no snow in any direction
Muffled their hooves, and the weight of
The dreams in both cases made me
Unsure of what I’d seen. Made me
Pack the animals and their passing
By into memory recall carefully for

Now I stand on any partially lit
Street differently, in a doorway
Eyeballing any Toyota go by or
Pale neighbor pass and feel an
Anxious sweetening in the way I want to see:
Hooves on cobbles, night feet on
Pavement, and us all animal shadows like questions
Come along;
Deer or love, from
A place I can’t explain and
Where I do not know. … Read on…Where I Do Not Know




The boy kept grabbing, kept putting his
Hands all over me and saying — one way or
Another: “mine,” and I didn’t have the
Words at first, nor then the steel, then
The will to stop him. I let it all
Roll downhill, the both of us
Tumbling over the earth and
Each other and he still grasping at
Whatever he could with I unable to
See the sense in it. And we skidded
Like Buttercup and Wesley
Over course dry grass into the
Last fold of the hillside, and that
Was the end of it all, the end of
Moving in any direction, of needing
Anything but to
Lie on our bruises, and
Gaze at clouds made
Whole by the wind until our
Breaths returned and I noticed the
Feel of his fingertips just barely
Against my own and I could then
Move toward him just enough
So he could hear me agree:

photo “mine” by Grevel, on FlickrRead on…Mine

Between the Morning Trees, You’ll Find It

I try to try harder. To look under
Heavier rocks and inside murkier
Metaphors. But the grey of morning
Lifted her head and said: oh for
Heaven’s sake, sweetie
. Stop trying to
Interchange my mountains and
Molehills. Instead just have a look
Between the morning trees and

You’ll find it:
It’s there, if only you move your
Head a just bit. There. A tongue of red
Cloud in the summer sky. Listen:
Even the birds have stopped
Chattering and turned to look.

Don’t try so hard, she said, and you’ll find
Joy everywhere you go, in every
Sliver of the day, if only you move
Your head just a bit.Read on…Between the Morning Trees, You’ll Find It

To Get Things Done

It’s all an illusion: to carry a
Coffee full and fret a
Little if it will drop on the white
Rug or if it will scorch your
Tongue. Eventually every cup
Goes cold and empty, just dregs
And those impatient jitters
To get things done, hop on the
To do list and move.

That’s best: don’t
Sit too still in the
Early morning breeze inside the
Screened-in lie of
Beforehands. Better to drown out
The siren sweeties calling out
Their what-ifs with the
Hammering bills of the
Pecker finding breakfast inside
The dead. … Read on…To Get Things Done

The Carnival Ride Called Anger

I had a ticket on the
Carnival ride called anger in my
Hand and I gave it to her
And she tore it in half
And then the popcorn bucket
Exploded because the
Carny never bothered to
Buckle anyone in or tell you
To stow your sunglasses and
Anyone within 10 yards of my
Heart got a free ride regardless
Of their height so we all got
Flung about screaming and
The littlest ones froze in place
With a terror grip holding the
Crossbar until the ride stopped
Scrambling us all and the
Tornado voice died down and
In the end we all sighed and
Cried and hugged each other, all of
Us, of course, except that
Fat clown-faced
Carny who tore the
Ticket, smirked
And strutted away. … Read on…The Carnival Ride Called Anger