Saturday, January 27, 2007

Life of the Egg

I sleep through chicken soup
with noodles entangling my legs,
odd pieces of vegetable and meat.
This is not an empty night.

But I am also missing,
time rushed by without a signal.
The missing part of the night is deeper,
more like the truth.

Until I open my eyes,
I am alone here
down in my void, with pockets
of chicken soup.

I can live by myself
during the times
I count as living,
when I am saturated with yolk.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Pride of the Humble

Theresa M. Thomas
opens her case
and examines the documents
one by one. Her fingers
slide gently over the paper
so it will remain fresh.

That is my own legal name
she thinks. She is so proud
to see it printed
very neatly at the top.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Leaks

The cafe is drafty in winter
because people keep
opening the door to go in
and out. Every time
conversation, steam,
fragrance, citizenship
leak the snow
leaving cold vacuum.

I envy the girls at the table
in the warmest part of the room
and watch them all through lunch.
Every time they laugh,
the girls put their hands to their mouths
like they are coughing.

At first I think they are
hiding their laughter
because the open mouth
isn't polite in public.
Then I realize
they are trying to keep
spirit from leaking out.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Dawn

I wake up
before the short Winter day
separates from its night,
pessimistic
and cautious.

I monitor the air
telescope my eye,
on guard for the entrance of a dark path.

In the sixty-seventh year,
the first year of
irreversibles, most healing, for the first time
will not have time to finish.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Wednesday

The people who know me
in real life, the ones I
see all the time, some of them
speak and others never do,
known strangers, breathers and
belchers. I hear a Wurlitzer organ
and taste a thick soup, a folk soup like borscht.

When I was in Smitty's today
and asked him, the waiter told me
yes he worked there for many years,
there and another place. I told him,
you don't know me, but I watched you grow older,
seeing you about 40 times since we
caravanned among these tables.

Some of them are gray, the ones who can ramble on about the cost of bath soap.
I apologize for thinking that. We speak
stranger to stranger, within the radius, within the
borders of the town, sometimes brusquely other times
like people who pass through time together.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Freedom Has Been on the March

I hear freedom
in the closing of the doors.

When the committees
can't use me I see freedom.

No service I can render
is worth the cost and

freedom does not slow me down
as I fall further away.

Yes, I have tried
all my life to be free.

(another nod to Leonard Cohen)

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

The Beginning

When the driver
gives the fare transfer to her
instead of to her mother

the little girl leaps
a bitty bit onto her toes
as if allowing herself

part of a wish to fly
that the people on the bus
would overlook.

Monday, January 08, 2007

Someone's Private Gripe

Ow
it took you
20% too long
to take off my shoes
and 30% too long
to adjust my shirt
that set me back
50% in my wait for the future.

I can't wait for the future.
Now is a crisis
in passing, a ride
on an ambulance
sirens wailing.
Pain does that to ya.
Living on a noodle,
nothing to rest on
except someday.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Members of the Town

Pictures of health
all true to themselves,
they can make pledges
that can be kept.

There are actual conversations
with speech boldly, openly spoken,
sometimes gracefully,
and they all know how to marvel.

They can divert themselves
in real play with wooden mallets
and paper cards
or picnic in the sun.

They can take, without shame,
what is screened in as the best, the cream
of the arts and smile in appreciation
as they consume it.

They never hide themselves
alone in the dark,
compensating for missed company
and making up lies.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Critique of a Short Poem

What a smooth piece of magic!
I'm out of breath,
walk in one door,
get a quick whisk around
and end up out the other door
like a bum's rushed salesman.