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The same road

Strangely, it seems as though this is the same road I have been walking down all my life. It has branched, and forked, and turned. It has developed deep bumpy ruts, it has flooded, it has been dirt-packed and weed-overgrown and it has been paved. Sometimes I have had to jump from paving stone to paving stone, sometimes I have padded forward smooth as you please. I have skipped along barefoot, I have worn a colorful menagerie of shoes, I have tripped and fallen, tripped and caught myself, tripped and gone down hard, twisted more ankles than a person ought reasonably to be able to twist. I have walked light and heavy, hot and chilly, through deep sand, across sharp stones, alone reading a book, alone reading a phone, holding hands with my mother, my father, my sister, my Marjy and Linda best friends, with my lover, my runaway babies with my pinky in their little fists. I have walked with my posse, always and forever on down the road. And do you know, as the road goes along, sometimes it
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I should forget

I should empty my busy mind now. I should forget All the breathless gee whiz! and wow! I should forget Take my cue from the flowers, they don’t weave their clothes Like the peacefully trusting cow, I should forget Why fill my head with steps and flourishes With promenade, allemande, curtsey, and bow? I should forget All the people-stars in my firmament, them too? Adios to the cherished I and thou? I should forget? Yes, make it all open and quiet, sweep off the debris Bring on the all-clearing plow. I should forget Good-bye to bustle and worry, no more corrosive fuss Fretfulness, seeya! Misery, ciao! I should forget Cleansing myself of care, my body swims through deep waters Blissful novitiate close to my vow, I should forget I am clothed in every minute I have ever lived Oh I could kick free if I only knew how I should forget
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What is this voice?

What is this voice? What is this deep gruff rumbling? Can’t you hear me yodeling through the rooms, across the decades, down through my children’s dreams and far across the ocean, into my own beloved babyhood? Can’t you remember when I was a shiny bell, descant hitting the alleluias, shivery brightnotes trembling all the way to God’s ear? Were you there when we shouted down the roofs in ecstasy, delirium, in hopeless thrall to hopeful thrills? When we lost ourselves shouting up the home team in their old-school shorts on the open courts, screaming under the night lights, the gnat storms, when we found ourselves shouting with Gloria, surviving and jiving in shimmying crowds, footsore and juggling our purses and coats but alive, alive, and shouting?  And when we made our enormous shoutvoices to heavy ropes, holding our children, our frightened, frightening children, from breaking the thing, doing the wrong, crossing the road, crossing the road?  Oh I have traded in my silvertones for a g
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Today I woke up to the rain beat

Today I woke up to the rain beat Drew the drapes of my body upward to stand and walk Today the women’s feet shook the wood Rhythmic we stomped and floated the morning mother dance Today we spoke of lost tomorrows We might never see, we might never wake up into Today I was quiet, counting hours Spidered thoughts, little scared boats, down the routes unexplored Tonight we made a talking circle Listen, talk, listen, talk, all the ages, all the hurts Tonight I lost track of the minutes The house breathing out, the waiting for things to make sense Tonight stomp-feet are gone, circle closed Another day in this body. Sleep clawing me back
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All the words have been used

All the words have been used, all the roads have been paved All the pictures been taken, and framed All the old invitations are deeply engraved All the wilds have been formally claimed All the things have been said, all the vows have been sworn All the sentences lined up just right Oh but wait - they have never been said on this morn - In this voice - on this street - in this light All the prophets have cast off their robes and retired All the world has become very old All the most antique earthenware already fired The legends already been told All the words have been used, yes, but here’s one that’s new All glinting, and peach-fuzzed, and lilting Oh the babies are marching, their lines breaking through And the old world is tilting - and tilting All the roads have been paved, all the forest floors swept Nothing happens we don’t recognize Oh but look - there’s a tear that has not yet been wept There are kisses, and fights, and surprise All the things have been said, all the vows have be
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Lonely

Lonely is just a moment’s hitch in the air, one conversation missing out of the dozens ongoing, a breath’s pause. Lonely is the sneakers not tied - not just yet. Soon enough the feet will go, there will be people and music. Soon enough. But not just yet. Lonely is so tiny you can’t see it in all the deadlines, chatter, work to do. But there. Just there. In between the minute hands, straight through the clusters of people. Just one conversation missing.
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April 21–22. How long? How long?

My headskin hurts. The tightness of drums, the noise of pain. Where I used to think, there is wrongness. Where I used to be quiet, the world is flooding in. Monday’s child plays me tricks, bringing fire where I asked for water. I am not the little girl, but I have her headache. Why do I flee the pain? How do I flee the ache? How can I shed this skin? Tuesday’s child mocks me, laying traps, banging cymbals. I was myself and I knew where I ended. I could carry my stillness anywhere. Now I cannot keep out the marching band, it is me. Wednesday’s child waits out of sight for me, collecting sharp sticks. I stand in the yard holding out my apron, waiting for the next word to fall from the sky. How long, how long? Is this why it aches, my drumskin skull? Thursday’s child has the patience of angels, teasing me. I feel my way forward. I am in the dark. I offer my arm, my foot, my belly. Anything to hurt, just not this brainpan, this central committee. Friday’s child taunts: the weekend, the wee
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