poem - 2/28
working out the quirks
i am the same as i was
yesterday, aren’t i
the same person again – eyes again
ears again mouth again: “me” again?
i’m so confused.
this smoldered path is proof
i follow the Bright Sun along
the fallen forrest hot coals,
forging swords on the embers.
feet at peace in the burn.
him in the backseat reading a glossy
magazine (or was it at the table?),
staunch boulder i push up the fabled hillside
of my mind - another mild fancy:
give make-believe romance a try.
is it the same as
yesterday? didn’t the night drag
morning in, dark day
part two, the medium whisper
dexterous ants digging beneath the earth?
i can’t remember now, it’s
a pressing piece of laundry,
the ironing that calls me,
bracelets earrings and ideals,
if none are calling why do i answer anyhow?
a drop of time, the snake slide
your cool hand into mine.
yet, i cannot see your face
or the shape of your arm under-
neath the shirt. you wiped
an eyelash away
like a web.
i remember this: a careless tie.
