The Beginning

when we were
young
we ran along
sandy trails
one early morning
in florida
winding
through
head-tall
beach grass
which brushed
our face
as we ran
hearing the pulsating
surf
the waves
rolling and broiling
rolling and broiling
their crashing
repetitive
sound
awakened a
familiar
hunger
in both of
us
as we fell into
the deep sea grass
our sand-
encrusted bodies
now in syncopated
rhythm
to the
surf
only
yards
away.



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each year
we’d see them
two swans
on the pond south of us
we look for their faithful
arrival each year
a couple
each year
they mate and hatch a young or two
the chicks never seem to make it
they are gone
much too soon
and yet
each year we see them
faithfully arrive
but this year
only one has settled on the pond
he swims and
nests across from where
they made their home
not approaching that sacred place
will he be back next year?
to visit these memories of their youth?
to see their nest again
now but a remnant
in the changing landscape
of these breathtaking
hills and valleys?




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the second
of four friends
have died
four great maple trees
i’ve known them
for 25 years
residents in
our backyard
he first
blown over by
a strong southern wind
cut up
and burned
for a winter in our
farm stove
the second
now stands
stark
a spidery outline
against the blue
spring sky
barren
while its neighbors
stand by
watching
sprouting new green
avoiding
the saw
the splitter
and
the fire which comes.



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my college student
clarion
really
shut down
the university
that fall day
when
fuck the war!
was boldly
front-page
proclaimed in
4 inch
type
alumni withheld
their
donations
legislators
cut back funds
proposed
new laws
fuck the war!
we said
again
and you
warn
and threaten
and are shocked
by this
familiar
common anglo-
saxon word
which today
is in the
vocabulary
of most 5th
graders
still
we go to
war
no longer
shocked or
moved to act
by either
fuck
or
war
no, we
simply
sit and
smile
upon hearing
these two
words
in one
sentence
ah the pretentiousness
of
youth
the rebels
we
once
sadly
were.





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at first
Sabine’s cancer sadness
was a
monkey
on my back
look (i would think
they’d say)
he’s so strong
but
there’s a
monkey
on his back
and he
can’t
shake it
embarrassed
i would gulp my
grief
swallow my
tears
now
two years have
passed
the monkey
still is
there
(a frequent
passenger) he’s
still
quite visible
a passenger
with whom
I now
find comfort
proud to carry
him
look
(they now say
no longer noticing
the monkey)
how much
he
loves
her.




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her sweet voice
my youngest daughter
boarding a plane
to afghanistan
my daughter
part of
this empire’s
long
strong
and reaching arm
but something’s
wrong
daughters and
wives to war?
what have
we become?




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birds sing
even when it rains
I hear them
while we nap in our
screen house
the soft rain
sprinkling the roof
the chirping
never ceases
perhaps a sign
a metaphor
on encouragement
unabashed
joyfulness or
live and let
live
you lie
next to me
your cancer
temporarily
restrained
i think of it
and my foot
automatically
goes to and
presses its
neck
its hissing
sound
drowned out
by birds
who simply
are enjoying
the day
unaware
of my
vengefulness.