Sunday, September 21, 2014

Schooled (Magpie Tales 238)

Ginger dog
makes the loudest
I have ever heard, with each labored step
of his big hairy beast-paws, displacing
gallons of it
Displacing minnows
which skim the shallows
like very tiny memories
of movement in light

Watching, I have learned:

When chasing minnows that
you don't really want to
let yourself be heard

In your wrong-footed chaos of


When eluding a giant beast,
keep yourself small
your breathing small
your movements small
and erratic

Be seen
Be not seen

Fit yourself into a slip
of golden body
so tiny as to be no more
than the briefest
of light.

Mag 238

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Strange Now to Think of You Gone

The reading of the names. A stilted, halting counterpoint of New York-accented voices against my morning routine. Names of the dead. The spreading of the peanut butter, the chink of glass on plate as the dishes are done. Names of the dead. Rattle of dog food in the bowl. Names of the dead. Hum of washing machine. Names of the dead.

Names of the dead. Names of the dead. Trucks on the highway outside my window. Names of the dead.