The Couriers
Granddaughter conveys messages to mother
Daughter-in-law does the same to father
He’s so busy. It’s not what you think. He’s a good man.
You know how he is
It’s a one-way courier system.
Messages from the father and mother
Never reach their intended destination
But are stored for safekeeping
As per protocol, according to the code
Of all couriers,
It isn’t important if the words
Are never received
Only that they aren’t lost.
Time takes care of the rest
Impatients
Daffodils burst forth at the first hint
Of spring, firing when ready
By the time I blossom
The sun is already too far away
It’s too cold, the days too short
I’ve missed the torrents of April rain
And the promise of the first warm day
Coming out of a frost
I’m not even considered part of the garden
Just an unexpected pleasant surprise
If I’m lucky I can be a flash
Of violet in a scabbed landscape
Stripped down, picked clean of its bounty
By hordes of hungry wanderers.
I’ve plucked each precious petal
For safekeeping.
But you must hurry—
Most of this light touches us
Only briefly before it reflects
Back on a long retreat
To its place of blinding mystery
Easter
Easter occupies the realm
ordinarily reserved for poetry
Only its believers prefer
the term mystery
A place where faith is not certainty
but hope is the consolation
Where a light unveils everything
we otherwise choose not see
Where the pale old man in the pew
cachectic and frail
Receives his final blessings
neither yes or no, false or true
Any poet who visits this cathedral
fancies himself a theologian
If death cannot destroy love
then what does it matter
If there is a return of the flesh?
Movie Review
We bought tickets
To a long, inscrutable movie
Even the subtitles don’t make sense
It’s hard to tell if what we’re seeing
Is supposed to be happening
Or if it’s just some mechanical
Malfunction with the projector
This was supposed to be a special night
You paid for dinner and I told you
Things I’ve never said before
The only time I cry is at movies
Or when I’m tired and alone
I thought this would also do the trick
Because sometimes you need
A good cry
Holding hands in the dark
Would be the perfect title
For a movie based on our life
Weeks later you could read reviews
Of the film between the lines
Of a hastily written poem
Hernias
It was booked as a very straight forward repair
The hernia was of moderate size, maybe
An hour of work patching it up, I told her.
But once inside I kept finding other holes
And in each of the holes there was something
Else hiding that shouldn’t have been there
Her inner shield pocked like a thin
Slice of swiss cheese
Since I was there
I didn’t want to leave any vulnerabilities
Behind but the holes never seemed to end
I lost track of time
And forgot my own name.
After a while she had to get going,
Got married, moved on with her life,
Took a job in a different state with a plastics manufacturing plant
In the test lab but I kept toiling.
To this day I continue to keep watch
Probing her core for weak spots
Sealing all nascent gaps.
Nothing gets out
I promised her that.
From the outside you’d think
She was perfectly fine
Dancing
Dancing is the metaphor
I know how important it is
I don't like watching it
I just like to do it
Sometimes I’m Jesus
When he returns to earth
Unharmed and unscarred
But only for a few seconds
I always lose the flow
And start to bleed out
Every last drop
Or else time flips
Back and forth and I’m
A human baby again, uncertain
What to do with its body.
Everyone can sense it
Or it seems that way.
Maybe they don’t
Maybe I’m like Peleus
In the Pantheon suddenly
Surrounded by throngs
Of writhing gods
Oblivious to my presence.
So I go back to basics:
On-two, one-two, right foot, left foot
Rhythmically nodding yes yes yes
Biting my lower lip
Slowly returning to the beat of my own life
Next thing you know they’re
Playing my favorite song
And I’m dancing for my wife
