Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Sundown on the Child

Suburban patriarch
puffs up florescent inflatables
and vacuums the pool.
Kids coming,
grandkids too,
reunion for most of us,
introduction for the intendeds 
and the baby.

Graduation is the cover,
envelopes and cameras,
the youngest is now a legit
know-it-all, her siblings hover
to praise and tease and eat.

The light of our world is freed
from roll call and on parade.
We watch her wave to the grandstand
and pray she adjusts her mirrors,
top down on the Volkswagen,
sundown on the child
raised up in the Way.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Dust to Must

Undone monks grapple
torn asphalt.
Cat shriek walls fall
in cement birthday layers
of caked infants,
mothers missing in mirrors,
a teacher's hand
flower pressed to a chalk
board of promise.

Emergency coffees riffle,
winged fingers make eye bridges.
The graves got greedy,
water drowned the bare mountains,
bamboo curtains slapped against
a window to the world.

We have long lost these uncles
of surging rice cups and water.
Shelter is a bag and sticks.
Family is any pulse in a storm.
Our living room is any part of a paycheck
in  relief.

The face of a nation
is held in the heart of a neighbor,
there's no denying two denarii won't do
what's due, but duty
isn't beauty, until it's you.

From dust, to must we
lift from the mud again, orphaned
resurrection from the suction
of martyred mire. 
The swinging Hand in the bucket
brigade is pierced,
its more than necessary now, to know
we're not alone.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Municipal Portion

I sprint to adjust the lawn watering
dervish device, illegal these many drought months
and then the day before a downpour,
I catch the outermost drops
on my satisfied boots.

There's a mortgage on
each blade of grass,
a second on the fence vines.
Our shade oak of righteousness
drinks in its municipal portion,
careful to stretch toward God
in a wireless sky.

The younger maple is spitting
a worrisome leaf curl,
the years old hurricane break
nearly exposed. Easy to see
not yet competing canopies
will make a front yard marriage
of trees, proud Papa, ever ready
at the rake.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Comes with Thorns

The vase is a pulpit
of the backyard rose,
snipped in prime
for appreciative sniffing
of the decorative predator.

Is it any wonder
it comes with thorns ?

The Lincoln, Stewart, American
Beauty burst to fragrance
of fresh torn black cherry
Jello pack.

We name ours after favorite
Red Sox Outfielder Coco Crisp
and bear the pollen stuffed nose
and sneeze as dues
of cultivation.

The storeboughts cause cancer
in Ecuador, pesticide runoff
suffocating fish.
The ugly cost of beauty
marring Mother's Day profits.

Long stems in the arms
of champions and queens,
we made this bed of
short sighted petals,
parading a legacy
of skin spotted