Piqued to peek at a peak, you
pray as prey for peace given by the piece
to be made whole by its passage through the hole;
bared but not bare as, fuzzy like a bear,
you look as a ewe took upon the yew
complimenting our complement of blankets.
and everyone's mind would suddenly work poetry
images that fillet, sounds that move, smells that beckon memory;
businessmen halting deals over homeless men begging through the window
construction workers distracted by how the dusk hits the daisy
a politician at their podium suddenly stricken by their own obstensiality -
words would crop up newly formed and crack you at the seams.
I feel sometimes I am a collection of memories only
these pilgrimages through sides; a hole in the cross-state
pickup's floor, pavement whispering underfoot in its
late winter cab. Cold cream for raw noses, dogs carried
across interstate highways, bags that cut into young palms
where the weight of probable frozen turkeys and canned goods
loomed heavy at your door; later, the garbage bags hastily packed
decide decade after decade in fits of I can't take this anymore.
I can show you; I have luggage now and only buy new cars,
completely safe, save for a scratch or two from nervous driving -
I avoid nicely outdoor events in December and take my own
groceries from car to home with folding carts from Amazon,
carried to my three cats. (Material wealth doesn't remove the fear,
though, of being alone; I still sleep with a pillow to each side to recreate
the feeling of being held but I'm scissors to a toddler's first haircut, the sound
of a thrumming beat through the floor, or the smell of summer soil after a good rain.)
Late autumn sun on (what I assume to be galvanized) steel tubs
where tilling reveals a worm, fresh and wriggling and pink; hands
gentle (again!) pat the earth replaced with an absent-minded "there you go"
laughter spouts vapor and I wait for
later: lazily drifting smoke winds around the heads of (unfamiliar) faces
to go with their (familiar?) voices; we simply breathe and it becomes
part of us like how you ferret the best from ourselves kept in quiet esteem
I find it easy this time; I look down
and see your head in my lap (when did that happen) with your legs
thrown so casually over the arm of the sofa (like it's always been this way)
hands gentle (mine this time!) pet your hair and I fail at video games and I just
cannot believe that I am the worm
Unwinding from a heartfelt showing
small arm-looped huddle with
watchful eyes I contemplate ephemerality
given to fits and starts in sentences
lost to promises unfulfilled
staying too long as a shadow token of self
reverie interrupted by soft, warm hand
beckoning small of back; later,
whispers of love and like and unspooling, too
this other chance at becoming a staying
unerased in a smaller circle
known yet unknown but no less gratifying
you've all the tools to persist
I share my messy beds
tend to these like the gardens you keep
