Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Meadowlark \ Uncertain

Nancy: It’s a skill I’ve probably lost – the soft touch, the yielding feel of the bark as it loosens, ready to slip.  So no, I won’t be stepping out the door into the birdsong and whistling back.


bright song
bright bird
on a fencepost

Time to whistle
when the sap rises
when the willow greens

Time to remember
man sitting on the back steps
his hands moving slowly

He raps the willow twig
with the back of his pocketknife
round and round

That's how you make a whistle
with love, slowly

bright sound
willow whistle
girl swinging in a tree

Alan: On a day when we were both in an in-between state, all I could do was keep moving.


While you were lying unconscious
I was planning my meals.

While you were being cut open,
the raddled part discarded,
I was sweeping the floors.

While you were getting fitted
with the new,
sleek as a bike frame built into you,

centaur of bone and alloy,
I was dusting, I was staring
out the window.

While you were in Recovery,
fogged, uncertain,
out of reach,

while I was waiting for the call,
while I was waiting
my heart and my stomach
arguing over too small a space

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