Skip to main content

the silence means something new (landays)

the silence means something new each day
my hand on the big paper going round and around

my face at the window looking out
we wait at different corners for the same autobus

sanity can be found like spring snow
cold, unexpected, strangely beautiful, till it hurts

sanity can be counted, counted
in every head, in every body, beating the time

there is so much noise until it stops
there is so much life in the counting out of the pulse

minutes to midnight, hours to dawn
days till release, decades until we have learned it all

counting the scars, telling the blessings
shouting them aloud in all God’s languages at once
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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
Post a Comment
Read more

the next time

the next time we all stay inside it will be for love of our cooking pots pencil sharpeners Buddhist gongs ripped-up couches rooster cloths the magnolias will explode hard, pinker than ever but the windows will grow dirty the front doors cobweb over the hinges will rust while we burrow lost in our old old things *** the next time we all walk down the middle of the street we will be moving refrigerators, lifeboats, houses all of the engines gone kaboom and we the elderwives power your world onewoman, onewoman, onewoman at a time on feet, toes, blisters onewoman, onewoman, onewoman at a time with the hum of our babies driving our bellies forward forward *** the next time the airplanes are pulled from the sky watch us pile them into mindbombs telling our unborn selves the story long-ago stewardess pin collections, coloring books little feet kicking the air while we worldsailed high *** the next time quiet wo...
Post a Comment
Read more

My own lone self (ghazal)

I wanted a minute’s breath to quiet my hectic own self I wanted the voices held away from my frenzy-prone self I thought, let me close my eyes and hold my face in my hands Just like that I was in a world apart with my unknown self It was meant to be only a moment, to still my jangled thoughts But I stayed there, unhooked, unplugged, with my dreamzone self I’m a little girl. I’m a gawky teen. I’m a weird aging woman I’m a dancing fool sitting stone still alone with my own grown self Just me and the quiet. Just me held safe in my own cool hands A circle of peace around this jangly shaky-bone self The magic is usually deep in the snaking threads that keep us webbed Tonight I cut them all to spend time with my sole lone self I’m a silent rebellion, a party of one, my face in my strong cool hands A prayer of my own in this alien world, hauling home my far-flown self
Post a Comment
Read more