Friday, April 8, 2011

NAPOWRIMO day 6, 7, 8, 9

April 6

response to Wallace Stevens, “Large Red Man Reading”

Behind the Reading

perhaps, a large red man, or a ghost returning
to hear his phrases or one of those stars,
or scars etched into midnight,
mid-point wilderness where memory hears
the clatter of pans, tulips in clay pots, wheels
sinking barefeet first spoken by spoke
where the shiver spines and pricks
and iron-clamps lock the throat
until the heart expulses broken rocks
veiled in the eyes saying... and yet, and
yet –
April 7


I, having loved ever since I was a child, simple things, never having wavered
from looking for them
in a pine tree, first robin, last goose calls, first star,
Never, when surrounded by sidewalks and click of high heels, lose thought
that all can spell into Awe,
Never, when anxious to appear confident, discount, discredit, diminish
the power of the mourning dove or first bells of lily of the valley, or when
befuddled by lack of sleep, or drink, or heartache, even then, declare

my love for the dignity of being; no matter what country, what season,
what party in power, whatever combination of interests; Yes, this love
I declare.


Silent L's

Silen(shhhhhh) tells.
April lips past sips
to sail pairing

April 9

Left in the dust

is not a good feeling.
My Dad opens his agenda –
sees empty pages.

Each day, slips out the window
as he stares at the bay,
holding a book
a shell of dignity in his lap.

Now his second wife
is a stranger, the last thirty years
strangely erased.
He is still in love with my mother,
still, after 65 years
unable to understand why
she left him.

I feel doubly bereft
as the dust gathers.

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