San sans

(A Chinese form, san san meaning three three. Three images each appearing three times. Rhyme scheme abcabdcd.)

***

My bruised feet know the path, they walk

To meet my comfortable friend, we perch

On stones in sun and shade, easing

Our tired feet while we squint and talk

Each to each an ear, a friend, we lurch

From gossip to earnest, on sunwarmed stones

Laughing, listening, friend-teasing

Feet swollen, stones old, comfortable bones.

***

This memory face, a father, a mother

Crowding the mirror, my hands smoothing,

Holding, the mirror knows my face

Knows these hands and no-one other

Father worrying, mother soothing

The mirror knows there’s no disguise

I use her hands to trace

What I see with his eyes

***

What do I see when I close my eyes? 

Long tunnels, red-streaked lightning jags, 

Children leaving home, exploding pinwheels.

Anything I want. All truth, all lies.

I eye the children packing their bags

Down the tunnel’s length. Kaleidoscopes

Inside my eyelids. This is how it feels.

Close one. Close both. Children. Tunnels. Hopes.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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
Read more

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
Read more

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.
Read more