I thought the scarf
draped over the chair
was carved from a
single piece of
cherry wood,
waiting for me to
pull it
up to my writing
desk
Chair
Month: February 2018
Snow and Threads
The day the snow melted
I sat drinking tea and
looking out of the window.
Thin threads faded in
and out of sight as
the sun hit them or
a breeze blew. They
were everywhere.
Tying the world
together.
Moving Dirt
Moving dirt.
Puffing steam and
smoke. Trucks, and steam
shovels. Building the
future.
The new then, now the
past. Pushed down, falling
down. Ruined. Wrecked.
Shake up
Glittering, slivery
snow blows off
of the roof.
Dancing between
window and
the tree holding
snow in its still
green leaves like
cotton bolls.
Cloudy Chainsaw
Cloudy, grey, cold
it’s going to rain or
snow or both.
Everything is closed.
A chainsaw cuts
my neighbor’s wood.
They drag the leafy
tops to the curb.
He’s running.
Something is burning.
Basket
The branches
overhead
a basket,
holding me
to the earth.
Skinny With Glasses
Looking at the photo –
our annual trip to the zoo –
I remember the skinny
boy across the alley who
asked my grandfather
where his pretty granddaughter
was and the surprise
sixty years ago that he
meant skinny with glasses
me.
