Broke

Two days ago a woman with a young son approached me and Daniel in the Westgate parking lot.  She needed money for one more night at the Motel 6 before getting a spot at Alpha House.  I noticed that her neck was scraped raw and bloody.  "I'm broke, and I don't know what to do," she said, with tears welling.  "Mom, I'm hungry," said the young boy.  "I know, I know," she replied.  I gave them the six bucks I had, told her I wished it was more.  Yes, this could have been a routine for this woman.  I've still been haunted by it.  The sequence of their approach and our interaction intrudes and recurs like the pivotal moment of a meaningful dream.  Daniel was quiet for hours, too, after that.  Our symmetry with that mother and son didn't escape him, I believe.  There but for the grace of god.  It doesn't really matter whether her story is "true."  I am singled out by that moment in time, my reaction to her is real, it's unexpected, and it means something. 

So many have fallen by the wayside.  So many are talented and motivated and successful.  There's pity I feel for some, and there's envy of others.  Same energy.  I'll buy your sad story and hope you're not conning me.  I still devote myself to whom and what I love, but it's been hard to accept that I'm now a good 15 years beyond the cuteness and youth that once softened the edges of my mediocrity.  

I may take a healthy break from my aspirations.  This morning I asked myself what would happen if I didn't fill my spare time with inferior singing and so-so puzzle-making.  What would I find out?

Miscellany

not so love sick
no, just so sick 
of love
_____

her kidneys are weak
but her meow!
still strong
_____

This paycheck to
paycheck life
this breadwinner fail
_____

I've got 
your whole number
my integral one
_____

wears a bowtie
tells fart jokes
my boy



 

 


 

 

It

You want to know why

I don’t like caterpillars.

It’s the way they cling.

They won’t just brush off,

these eyeless, grim cylinders,

grasping and writhing.

Fat truths will persist.

And we fall for butterflies

don't we?  Also true.

Refuge

   If I take refuge

   here with you, there will be no

   other love for me.

   I’m not biding time with you

   or killing it.  I can’t dream.

   Not in this winter

   of discontent.  You there, kind

   and deep and shining.

   Here’s one more poem about the

   oldest problem in the book.

   Add a smiley face  (-:

   Make the best of all you’ve built.

   Call it happiness.

Not lost

I see this clearly.
It will never be enough
just coexisting.

Point A to point B?
It has never been like that.
I do find my way

eventually.
The devil's out and about
but not on my street.

We'll cross paths some day.

Heading Home

That’s Philip Seymour Hoffman
Wearing the red baseball cap

Head down, in first class

I notice first his forearms

Distinctively his somehow

He does not look up

While I wedge my suitcase through

Our eyes never meet

But we share a destiny

In this shared destination

I can feel safe now 

On this flight with him, this one

God has kissed, and blessed

Granted

   Have you looked outside?

   You won’t know how it really is

   Until you do
 

   It’s so cold

   Just those two cardinals

   Making their rounds

   And otherwise quiet

   No wind, no commotion
 

   When you’re out there

   Will you look back in?

   So much of me, what you can see, is granted

   Rooted in love

   Flowering too much

   Reproductive, unstoppable

   When seen and touched by you

   It’s true 

 

   Something, though, is not granted

   Something I’m saving
 

   My life’s more spent than not

   And I live for others now, most days 

   But I’m saving this