Poetry

Poem, 5/6

[with apologies to Edna St. Vincent Millay's Recuerdo]

it was very sunny, it was very hurried

we drove back and forth across the city

and i rented a mini, and drove it down lombard street

and i tried not to think it was like us:

lush, brief, beautiful, pretty;

popular attractions among many.

 

it was very foggy, it was very quiet

at the pho place with delicious complexity

like a library, a chain of libraries,

a template of noodles and tea.

during the day we sent postcards to our mothers

and pointed down at greenways hiding cars.

 

it was very brief, it was very sudden

the snap of a sheet, a city engulfed in flames

but to know i got close makes my chest hurt less.

it came close, but it came.

it was all for you, lover. my all, and all that i had.

Poem, 2/1

the first

morning we awoke together broke

fast on the first day of the first

month we talked of dreams and

planned our next re-

union. talking to the thai

order taker i heard vocalized in the re-

peated numbers a credit

to your kindness. registered. we

ate and watched stupid teevee,

wondering what resonates

enough to laugh. these

days repeated their thrust, pre-

dicting a sweet opening.

Poem, 5/20

For Greg

two boys in parallel

two lanky bodies laying atop mom’s

long silver dodge caravan

roof rackless

recklessly in early spring boy love,

discovering how close bodies can be

without touching.

then, a hand, exploringly inches

towards the energy of another

man’s hand and

the first spark of skin belies the

resistance within.

yet still, there’s that thrill.

Poem, 3/18

Glimpse

Into goodness and purity we leapt,

impossibility aside and full on. Rapture

like an ocean, available.

It’s good to know, and yes, to have

felt your arms and warmth

like a continent, solid,

but just as divided. Tender

is the rock that cannot be moved.

Poem, 7/17

yes, summer,

I accept your grandiosities.

the relentless dusky colors,

the honeysuckle, the shrub rose,

ev’ry hilly meadow seems a dream.

 

how you show your stillness

is a whispy memory. so much bursting

and so much calm.

I wait for the road home to change;

I do not wait for the cold.