The young man in the hoodie

he might have been homeless, sitting

hunched over on the bench on the elevated train platform

face hidden, facing down, coffee in right hand

i sat next to him uncertain seeking clarity

was this really where you caught the train

weirdest platform in an unknown town, no one

else around, he might have been homeless

but he was on the platform that morning maybe

going the same place as me

I asked him if this was the platform, this weird

elevated space well above the usual place where 

one would catch a train

he lifted his head and responded, hoodie in place

this young man is a writer and seeker,

so tired from moving his friends into their new place

maybe his eyes were mostly closed, i'm not sure

because i'm not sure that i saw them on the platform

but the train arrived, we left the elevated platform 

to board and i'm not sure i ever saw his eyes

but they were wide open.

 

The Culprits

 

the delicate new leaves disappeared overnight

sending my spirits deep into the soil from which they had emerged

were the birds the thieves in the late afternoon heat

there being no evidence of the slime of a slug or snail 

an oppressive heat called me to water the sadly defrocked beans

in hope of resurrection, somehow, and from this baptismal font 

scrambled hundreds of them, their crepuscular bodies scurrying 

forth from the depths, the beans passageways providing a quick

exit from the drowning stream.

evil little roly-poly's, what shall be your fates

this oppressively hot summer day when there is no such 

thing as a prison cell with tiny bars that can hold you all

in the darkness of the cool night you will find yourselves

lured away to the softest and sweetest delicacies, the fragile

edge of a lettuce leaf, and find yourselves too full to 

wander astray for the delicate new leaves of 

my newly planted beans

my spirits will soar again

Finding my own voice

 i'm not sure if he frowned inside

 at the Capital Letters, the lack of form

each margin at the right hand side,

seeming friendly enough, but the Librarian 

T-shirt tipped me off in the end, the 

"knowing how to do this" but maybe

that's not it, he may not have said inside

    but i cannot know, maybe it's my own

frown inside because i have never studied

after all, never read the books or wrote the 

    prescribed poems from my past, no need

        to dig earlier than a few moments ago

a beetle hitchhiked on my shoulder into this very room

    life is so exciting.

The ABC's of a baby's life

A

Baby

Carried in his mother's arms

Decided that the grass looked much greener over there

Excited to Explore, to

Frolic, to 

Grasp each blade of Grass

Happy to be free of parental restraint

In the delirium of the expansive mind

Jolted alive by new experiences and feelings, flying like a 

Kite into the stratosphere, 

Leaving us, the elders 

Minding our small concerns

Not even noticing the miracle of the ladybug

Or the spider's web 

Possibly not even our own amazing humanity, our

Quivering hearts, only in capturing the wonder in his eyes do we

Remember that we, too, are alive

Suspended in this universe of glory and stars,

Traveling through the Milky Way, while 

Undulating waves of grain still

Visible on distant plains, a

World away

eXcept in these baby's eyes,

You can see the world reflected, 

Zooming in and out, the world will be his.

Learning a language

we learn a language to understand another way

       of what and why do we care

if we can communicate with someone who lives across the sea

        in a place where trains run on time

                and politicians care about their people

no such places exist yet the lure of language persists

        as if in learning, we’ll open our hearts to some 

unknown place that yearns to be discovered

        between the conditional and subjunctive for

in between knowing and confusion we search for 

         some version of the truth 

the writing coach

 he greeted me with a generous smile in spite

of my tardy arrival, rushing in from the heat

my poems tucked under my armpit

as if to hide them from his critical eye

my tardiness swept aside, he inquired 

so gently what i hoped to accomplish here

with him, and the security guard sitting so close

did I have to tell him, too

he was not there to pick apart the words, themes, rhythms

and so i responded

very carefully, whispering the question

whether 

these poems tucked under the armpit

will breathe better once released. 

Suspended in space

I dare not wash my hands out of  respect for the spider 

Suspended in her web in my washbasin. 

Is she wondering, like me, what that next step will be, the entry

Into an unknown which may lead to better horizons, or not,

For her,  the freshness of the outdoors, for me, more time inside pondering words,

Syntax and shape, capitalization and story telling.

When night falls and I mount the stairs to brush my teeth,

Will she be there to accompany me on our journeys

Or shall I travel alone.