Poem #3 — National Poetry Month

And Then This Happens


The crazy love fly roamer under the whip

Of spring turns the corner and I’m standing

Along the edge of the bus zone so many of us

Find infuriating with the bus not coming and not

Coming in this atmosphere of waiting where

The trajectory of love’s crazy fly-by pitch is right

In my face until it takes all I have to resist.

So I don’t. I’m in, lounging on the cusp of go-go

And let-let then the open-armed tickle of it.

A Poem a Day for National Poetry Month #1 and #2

Here I go, heading into Na Po Ri Mo, writing a poem for every day of the month!


Just Spring, Actually


May I show you how March came in

With lions and lambs, the roiling

Fur and tumble, restless rains, the wind?

How the month shimmed in

The gap between a frozen winter

And the flimsy nets of spring?

In the midst of this, I said the word Slowly.

Only I never meant slowly, I meant

Something like: “I hear a foghorn.”

In the mud, the rain roar, splatter and hush

The roots squeezing through, what I heard

Was gradual, the growing din of enough.


Recurring Wish


I want to say a word about fathers.

About lovely men who pay

Their daughters’ coffee bills,

Who take the coats, who lift the vases,

Who pull the laundry and tend to the engines.

About them, I know nothing.

But I still dream that I will, oh I will.