everything should burn everything should turn to ash now and then
the fog was coming in every morning for awhile, fingers of the ocean,
then burning off at midday but then it was still cool in the shade,
very cool for june
then it stopped coming and the bugs are out early,
soon the dust, soon the wind
my son and i tried to catch lizards
with a homemade snare
too cold and they hide, too hot,
and they zip around like race cars
but i mesmerized one with a piece of grass
shuffling it slowly over his head
then down around his neck
then slowly tightening the noose
would have had him but the grass frayed
the spell broke
he ran away
everything should burn everything should die
there used to be walnut orchards on this hillside
there used to be pears
there used to goats sheep cows
there used to be
an oriole in the afternoon wind, swaying in the top of an oak
his throat the color of molten gold
butterflies wafting over chew's ridge
now my son has gone with his mom
I sit in the lawn chair in the shade
holding the handles tight
trying not to float away.
If I sit here long enough momentum will carry me up
looking for a paint brush
a drill
a rake
a power washer
something of which the day will fashion itself
into a day and not a moment without end
without beginning
without comma
without punctuation of any sort
an acorn woodpecker swoops from a live oak
bonks his beak on the porch posts
over
and
over
the house cats in the shade, snoozing
bong bong go the wind chimes
some kind of beginning is making itself apparent
some kind of breeze at midday
some kind of any goddamn thing to wake me from this
sideways stupor
this painless pain
this dusty sitting
my son has gone today and the only
people who seem to have any wisodm
are the ones who say
so what time passes try to be happy
so what time passes try to be happy
try to get up from this chair
try to get in motion
watch out for the grass loop
dropping in from the sky
so what time passes try to be happy
No comments:
Post a Comment