that's mrs. mediocrity to you

she chose
the flower

he named
the scent

getting old is a bitch

but it beats the alternative

truth matters

no really, it does

common sense can’t be taught

science can

the word feminism was coined by a man

of course

we’re all lost

on the same planet

i hope i’m gone

before they make the sky

less blue

…

and i’ll show you a seed
left to dry in an envelope

or an avalanche of words
dropped cold on a doorstep

or a curtain barely moving
in a window filled with need

…

the right thing
is almost never
the easiest thing

and i watch you
doing everything
the hard way

taking root
in the furrow
of new growth

this morning the sun
strode straight past
the center of longing

we’re both here

(or there)

dawning

…

these days
i drink information
through a funnel

an endless stream
of bits and bytes

hoping for
a nibble

or a pause
just long enough

to gasp

grasp

entangle

…

a broken phone
will not deliver
cries for help

an ordinary walk
an ordinary day
sun shining down on both of us

a conversation
standard pleasantries
locked inside a panic box
neither fixable
nor fixed
in place
or time
or mind

it’s like i’m trapped
inside my own body

you said

can i ask you something
are you afraid of me

an ordinary house
an ordinary room
your dog asleep in the sun

as you broke into pieces
again and again and again

…

it’s not that
everything’s rosy

or perfect
(the horror!)

but there are flowers

and sunshine

presiding over tea

and i have this minute
(just the one)

to marvel
at the color
of stamina

…

i wrote a book
and threw it away

planted seed
and failed to weed

learned to play
and broke my fiddle

climbed a mountain
and laughed an echo

mixed the dough
and measured hunger

fought the wind
and ran for miles

counted stitches
and broke the needle

breathed in sky
and failed to fly

opened arms
and held you high

…

scraping ice from a windshield
in the dark cusp of dawn

red-winged blackbirds
flash neon signs
in hopes of feed and sun

three days ago
i watched a hawk
murder a grackle

(never forget to keep an eye
on the sky)

i whisper
and begin walking south
as the silence of north
calls me home

each step a false migration
blurring line
between time and design

a march of soldier
armed with rhyme

and stubborn pockets

leaking trails of sanity’s
seed

i listened for so long i went silent

mute as a river drinking dawn in the forest
mute as a sky bright with stories of stars
mute as a heart bleeding love like a wound

there are no words for any of this
no lexicon
for racing blindly through the darkness of reality
hawking bliss and deprivation in quiet turn

i am echo
singing jagged edge
across each mountain

you are breath
and something
less tangible

or everything

it’s all there
ramshackle and ready
prepared

but we’ve forgotten
history
her story
our collective
mind

i walk this path
i have traveled
too often

watch two bluebirds
savor sunshine
just the way March requires

i remember you there
on my windowsill
all magic and tragedy

survival
so often depends
on kindness

i say nothing

. . . . .

. . . . .