Goodnight

In the return of the sea
its standstill secret treats

I ready for sleep, alone
along a landlocked deep

Remote as light, as reason
is this compass of night

Fingers that refuse to pray--
stray in sweet reggae; delicious.

_

Rain Again

The past returns
lush
folded purple

like the explosion
of a
single match

the weight
and
storm of water

on wind like feet
the feet
of small children

trees try not to cry
the
pulpy drip of rain

_

And Again

The churn and whine
of starting over
The burning bushes
sing spring

you could say
the smiling of flowers
you could say
the flowering of smiles

amidst the day's landmarks
of talk, meals, and naps
the hesitation of last year,
fruit: a mouth full of beauty

_

And After

anticipation
spools like a movie
tells what happens
next

the wind scribbles
this book jumps up
and is a flat stone
ready for skipping

my thoughts
rise like mist
your touch
is rain across me

longing storms, bursts
--a vigorous birth--
thoughtless, saving a life
= staying alive

_

References Have Been Checked

Breakfasts have been a lot more leisurely since the semester has ended. So leisurely that Li'l A has to be shepherded to school before Baby A has even dipped into her cereal or her cheesy eggs. Before she has finished telling me every single detail of last night's dreams. 

So Li'l A went off to school, and Baby A is dawdling at the kitchen table.


Baby A: I don't want milk or eggs anymore.
(Accusingly) YOU don't eat eggs or drink milk!

Me: I don't now. But when I was a kid. I drank milk all the time and ate an egg every day.

Baby A: No, you didn't!


Me: I did, actually!


Baby A: Ok. Call Ammama [grandma, my mom] let me ask her.

I initiated an international call and was duly exonerated.

_

It Will Be Warm (Till November)

Footprints dissolve in the mud

feet: fleet, sudden muddy armada

six-seven songs thicken my head

warm prayers like stars, pleated breezes

Lost: can we care about mapped lines--

those echoes happening like strewn veins 

open the bruised year, count what is sent

unpin hope--find it escape, flying like a signal

_

Beauty Binge

So Liz Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love?) has a new-ish curiosity shop.

I want to call her out on further exploiting exotic locales and people, but--almost despite myself--I am charmed by the wholesome, self-deprecating blurbs on the store's website.

(And shhh. Yes, I secretly want to wander around in that warehouse all week-end long with a fat, juicy bank account.)

_