DEEP IN THE MOTHERLOAD

On some mornings it seems like
you have to prop the sun up in the sky
(distraction after distraction
keeps the darkness present), and when
you get it up there, its word of advice is,
“Please be patient
with your life,” and nothing else.

Even the immigrants and pilgrims
forget what it was like to be new. Settled in
to their new existence, it takes awhile for them
to see things the old way. And the natives still do things
the old way.

(October 25, 2007)

GLIMPSES

It is a slow change. The little sorrows
hold your hand like a parent and child,
to always remind you of simple things
that get lost in the world.

You’re home finally, but your heart
won’t seem to chime in.

In the middle of the night, when we’re off
in other worlds, we try to turn off one light
and turn on another. There are times
when I don’t want to open my eyes, because the world
and the weight will be what I see.

It is not sad to think about
one day not living here anymore, people not wondering
who was here before them.

In the middle of the night,
my body—light as the spirit—floats high
above the sadness and fear. If only I could hold onto
those little glimpses and dreams,
until a little sunlight gets through.

(October 24, 2007)

EARLY ONE MORNING

It’s more like a race to the dawn—to see if something—
another way, an alternative to what most
just accept as they only way, the only answer—
in these peaceful little hours of the day.
“Will I make in time?” you ask.
“Will I get there?” Some days, all of our steps
are for that race—every strike of the axe,
every swing of the pick or spade.
Even our tired, shallow breaths
at the end of a long day.

But there are other days
where only the sun finds us; at least we’re
not sleeping. The world always sends
some part of itself as its representative—the wind,
the cold, the rain—to let us know
what we’re looking for is out there, to tell us
when we don’t come across it,
“You’re getting closer. Tomorrow, maybe.”

(October 17, 2007)

BROKEN WINDOW

Those old voices and memories lie quietly
in the past, there is no need for them
to be summoned. The night is here,
some trails grow cold
pretty fast. Sometimes it is better
not to turn back to the mapped out day,
but just take what you have with you.
There is another end
to this cold trail—no one knows
where it will come out—
and it counts for something.

(October 4, 2007)