Looking for something (triolet)

I am looking for something, and you are in my way

You are dreaming something, and I wake you

You are wanting something, and I have taken it far away

I am looking for something, and you are in my way.

I am trying to be something, and you won’t hear what I say

You have an earnest meaning, but I mistake you

I am looking for something. Get out of my way!

You are dreaming something. Let me not wake you.

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Small pleasures (landays)

There comes a time when the well rings dry When the mothers and fathers live in empty houses When the day turns an unseen color When the letters we send shred themselves to confetti There comes a day when the trees grow tired A time when my bones walk slower than my memory When the signs don’t know how to read me When the comfort I get comes from counting surely down There comes an hour when we just stop short When the world streams by in all its hot cacophony There comes a moment when all is well The pebbles are smooth, the babies are rolling fatly When the roar of the unthought, undone Lets through ribbons of song from the basements and attics

there was a tree to draw (listening to Rhiannon)

there was a tree to draw and I drew it strangely there was a sweetness to draw on and I smashed it wrong there was a wall full of drawers and in every one an old body there was a zipper to pull and everything went spilling lost this is the wrong handwriting but it keeps looping this is the quiet, finally, brushing me with its lashes this is the fever we dance to with the deep deep beat these are the eyelids we press with cooling fingers it doesn’t stop for anything, it keeps me turning it doesn’t wait for letters from the old back country it doesn’t run smoothly through the rolling machinery it doesn’t drink the things I drink, it doesn’t know from ice how do the hundreds of hours fill with brisk-eyed wanting? how do the hundreds of pages speak the dusty lines? how do the hundreds of feet stomp the ageworn wood? how do the hundreds of aches ever rest? ------------ * today's Napowrimo prompt: Listen to a favorite piece of music and write...

the same dance

we are dancing the same dance, but at very different speeds me standing on Daddy’s feet, five years old, at the van Renterghems’ New Year’s Eve party (oh and the grownup tables at my eye height as I wandered the room, the pig with its frilly skirt and apple in its month, us miniature Baptists telling jokes about Catholics, what did we know) we are dancing the same dance, but to such different music you send me messages and there is never a ding or a buzz, just randomly later I glance over and there are your words, floating we are dancing such a different dance to this same old music will we ever find ourselves dancing it together? Marjy and me on our untrained tiptoes, fat Belgian lady at the piano, tiny Belgian girls in their bathing suits leaping across the floor Mommy and Ruthy and me in the living room, put your little foot , all of us on the cracked tennis court, square dances on records, Uncle Jerry shooing away the little kids, won’t you dance with m...

All is burnt. We rebuild.

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