I garden at 5:00 a.m.early morning, heavy dew why not pick some peascrisp pods some full some notpuzzled wife who thinks me nuts, a braille gardenerwho squats with God no accusation nowbut affirmation ‘what are you doing?’an approbation of the divine who thinks me no moreeccentric than he who walks the peasin the cool of…
My sister cares for her dying friend. /
Between chemo appointments /
they watch Netflix together . . .
Do they remember, that girl /
treading water in her cabin /
or the mother who held on /
for a long, last hour, praying /
until the tree itself gave way?
Of all the towns offered /
in the Italian countryside /
the weight carried /
by the star /
of Umbria /
casts the longest shadow.
I go down to the river to pray. /
Its water tumbles to the Mississippi, /
a major artery, open to the open sea . . .
I’m remembering church picnics. It’s summer nostalgia, of course. The wind in the trees outside my window and the sound of kids playing. I’m leaving church after the service and thinking about watermelon, remembering the tote bag my mom put the thermos in and the way she folded a travelling rug on top and the…
A blindingly bright January morning. /
In the distance ahead, to the east, /
a wink, /
a glint of metallic shimmer.
On the day that hate rode into town /
We visited our neighbor in her new home /
She is over 90 years old
After the city, the garden /
is quiet, the leaves green /
enough to absorb every cry.
WHAT PERSISTS /
there is the void /
there is the heavy immovable stone . . .
Can there be resurrection /
among the ruins? /
Dare we imagine new life /
rising from these streets of death?
Children crack palm nuts milked of fats, / stripped of orange. They smack / nuts on rocks, split out the kernel of ndika . . .
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