SOME BIRDS
Some birds still chirp,
Though night has all
But fallen now.
The birds will come again
When dawn breaks,
When the wrapping is
Removed
On a brand new day.
The birds--I wish
I knew the names--
Will be outside my window
Once a gain
When all that remains
Of night is swept aside.
Sing me awake.
Sing me to sleep.
I don’t care.
Whatever their names,
The birds are welcome.
For Jane Martin
I willl forever
]be paying off
The debts incurred
Every time I skinned my knee,
Sprained my hand
Or my heart..
Encounters brought new knowledge,
And now
It’s my obligation,
No, my pleasure
To teach what I learned
By explaining all the marks,
Nicks and cuts,
Their histories,
Their geographies,
Their biographies.
Can others learn from
My mistakes?
Have I learned from
The miscues,
The wrong words
At the wrong time?
Now
I serve...
IN THE SHADOW OF MONEY
In the shadow of money,
Where the homeless move
Their shopping carts,
Where there’s only the aroma
Of a good hot meal.
Currencies zing overhead,
Dollars and cents in all directions
But down.
Men in suits and ties hurry
To catch up with their leader.
The homeless man doesn’t wave hello or goodbye.
“A nickel or a dime,
A quarter if you will,
A dollar if you cancan.”
And still no one looks
The man--a thin dollar falls his way.
Between fast food
And faster pedestrians,
It’s a wonder anything
Catches the eye.
No one notices.
“Good morning...could you...
Never mind,
Hi there, do you have...
I just want a cup of coffee...
It’s cold, right?”
The lawyers come.
The bankers go.
The tourists--
They take pictures
Another hungry day flees the scene.
“I can watch your car
For an hour, for a dollar?”
“I can open the door for you
For just one thin dollar.”
Just a dollar...
KEARNY STREET BECKONS
ALL COMERS TO EAT, TO DRINK,
TO EARN A LIVING
TO SELL ONE’S SOUL.
“A NICKEL OR A DIME...:
Copyright (c) 2010 by the author
Sometimes caught/
Sometimes free.
Sometimes beautiful/
Sometimes hideous.
Sometimes injured/
Sometimes healed.
Sometimes loud/
Sometimes quiet.
Sometimes fast/
Sometimes at a crawl.
Sometimes hungry/
Sometimes thirsty.
Sometimes attentive/
Sometimes lost in thought
Sometimes the question/
Sometimes the answer
Sometimes there/
Sometimes here.
Sometimes loving/
Sometimes envious.
Sometimes music/
Sometimes silence.
Sometimes broken/
Sometimes repaired.
Sometimes a flower/
Sometimes a weed.
Sometimes sinful/
Sometimes holy.
The dream begins
As the ambulance
Pulls away:
I’m still bleeding.
Weakness.
Having taken control
Of something of my own body.
I am not weak!
I am not unworthy of love!
See my pain
In red ink,
Indicating
That someone--
Who, I wondered-
Could read my letters
Written on my skin.
I’ve overdrawn my account.
In the dream I am moved
From room to room.
They don’t know where to put me.
They can’t find a square hole
For this square peg.
I am silent.
I stay quiet.
From room to room,
Briefly intersecting other lives,
We share a silence,
Then I’m gone again,
And the air I’ve displaced
Rushes back in as I leave.
Where to next?
Yesterday
Yesterday
Grows longer/
Tomorrow grows shorter
With each breath--
Each tale we create
About ourselves
Becomes old news
After one telling.
We ascend to the top
Of the hourglass
With each grain of sand:
And then
The journey ends,
And we return
On angels’ wings
With the knowledge
We’ve acquired.
We, the doves,
Returning to the ark,
Announcing dry land.
I’LL trade you
Life for life,
Gift for gift,
,troubles for troubles,
Dream for dream--
And maybe,
With a new eye,
An outsider’s touch,
We might find peace.
I’ll trade you
Life for life,
Disability for gift,
Wheels for a cane,
Bus pass for the keys
To your car--my car now.
The prince and the pauper
Updated,
What do you say?
What do you say?
I’ll trade you
Family for family.
Let’s see how we approach
Relationships wornh thin.
Your arguments become mine,
And I’m not tired of hearing them.
She was here--
I just know it.
It isn’t the scent of her perfume,
But the arrangement of molecules,
The electricity-that remains for hours,
Days, years.
Her pets are no longer here.
Her clothes have been packed
And shipped.
She left in a hurry,
But I know--I just know--
She was here.
The nick knacks are missing,
The collage of life has been transferred
To an unknown place.
But she was here.
And now, I suppose,
Someone will know
That I’ve been here too.
Traces--
I leave traces
Of myself
Wherever I go--
I can’t help it:
My scent,
My aura,
Dead skin cells,
My hair, my footprint,
My fingerprint
Rearranges,
Breaks up the pattern
Of protons and electrons.
My confidence,
My sorrows,
My joys--
They announce that
I’ve been here--
There--anywhere.
