driving in snow
driving in snow
shovel out the path
and the snow keeps on coming
walk to nowhere, freeze
my desk: keyboard, planner, paper, book
lost in a different world
forgetting to see
ignore ants and dig in dirt
wade in with all your clothes
listen: back and forth of waves
people have fallen off so often
I almost fall too–
unsure of how to stop
build a tower, then
watch it fall as small fingers
reach out, learn to play
these keys will never make a mark, but
they have been so anxiously waiting that they are
bent, posed to say something again
G and J are broken; the rest are bent
this typewriter is no longer useful, being so old–
but that is why I cherish it.
running barefoot on sidewalk
or walking slowly in sandals
the sun beats down between shade trees
no longer fenced in by office walls
receiving them while pregnant,
displaying them in my home,
waiting to be able to place them on her feet.
slipping them on,
remembering the grandma who made them,
wishing I had more
I wander and do not even think to climb the stairs,
swing, slide, run
instead, I observe
no longer a child
forgetting to smile
I used to play, running and climbing
and now I watch an empty school playground
out for the summer, basking in heating
Shortly after she was born, I washed all her socks,
hanging them to dry with clothespin after clothespin.
And I looked at the socks
hanging on the line, so tiny.
This is my new life.
I wish you could smell this.
the world reeks of spring
no fabric softener can mimic
slowly, clothespin after clothespin
my laundry embraces the world.
I only get one shot
one shot I cannot delete
one shot I cannot edit
so I fiddle, adjust, slowly
carefully double checking my manual settings
no battery power, nothing automatic
it’s just me and the light
push the shutter, rewind, start over
I don’t even know if it worked.
a day is recorded softly in the morning
and that day lives forever
in the rush of life contained
in lines of cursive
Every day fades quickly, yet:
new days come, and that is where the excitement is.
Is life cruel? It sends us surprises sometimes
and I am surprised to see failure at my doorstop
hope is so far away sometimes–but I have to cling to it
clinging to it because despair cuts my palms–
I fell on despair, and still, it won’t let me go.
But life is not that bad at all, not really, becasue
I’m not bleeding anymore, I’m not hurting anymore
I am holding on to hope now, and staring at failure–
staring it at its face and saying that I don’t believe in it
And magically–except for it isn’t magic at all
the failure disappears.
See: the book is ready to be read
yet–I hesitate, hesitate–dread
fills my mind: What if the adventures
become the makeup of my fears?
a table empty is peaceful;
a table full is lively.
and in between the two–