Monday, March 3, 2014

...................................................Wake


I’m sorry I’m late; it’s such a bad habit
and my mother always said “you’ll be late for
your own funeral” but here I am and really wanted
to see you and say something, but you’ll not be speaking
and I won’t either from this line as I can hear the din of chatter
start to form in meaningful hushes and I count the limited variety
of spoken condolence and wonder if the repetition patterns occur in odd or
even numbers and how many primes there might be if I waited long enough and…
“yes, we schooled together I am so sorry for your loss…yes he was too
young…you must be ….” hey buddy what are you doing there in that box?
Maybe I should kneel and do the sign of the cross and make believe
I’m saying the Hail Mary but I know you knew I never would
and neither would you so we both know its OK but I am
really going to miss you and I am just thinking about
our time together as my thoughts are what I
have now and I think I hate the way they
 combed your hair like you were
ready for first communion.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

La convivencia y el amor

Standing shoulder-close moving subliminal, syncopated
from that mutual command – you wash and I’ll dry….
sharing the steamy hot water and reaching across
with the drying towel as the next pan goes to strainer
you said that Kind of Blue was OK and we let the Cool fly
through us with the little drip-drip making its way from
the washboard to sink while you knew that the soup needed
tomato paste and could I run to the store por favor
oh yes, but your Spanish is better than mine love…

so in a bluesy sounding way you handed over
the last plate and we knew that we were good and
ready for the next steamy go-round.