poetryandstrangers

It’s raining here, hard enough

that everyone in the laundromat

is family. We don’t talk,

because we don’t need to talk.

We can go about our moments

more in sync than wait staff,

which is a family you

can drink with,

but still have to tell where you’re going.

I don’t remember

if you’ve worked in a restaurant,

because I don’t know a thing about you,

but if you haven’t, people in a restaurant

yell, “Behind!” so no one

knocks anyone’s hard work down.

The way I’m yelling “Hello!”

over the strong ohm of the gas-

powered dryers, and through whatever space

always lingers between two people

even when they live like rain

in a safe good puddle.

Most Days

On the hotest days of summer

I try to memorize

that Mark Strand poem

about freezing to death.

I mean in weather where you don’t know

your own face or how

many fingers you’ve had

your whole life, how many hands

your hands have touched

getting change, say,

at the store.

I don’t remember what the poems says

so let’s, you and me, agree

it says no matter what happens,

no matter what we do , we will

be loved

even if we don’t know by who

or how.

Swaddled by I-95, unsure

what I will say when

this swinging stops—

safe in the failing

green of median,

a single deer.

THE TEXAS RATTLESNAKE DOES NOT FALTER

IN THE CULTIVATION OF VIRTUE. EACH MOMENT RISES

LIKE A BOTTOM LINE AND DEMANDS OF US A RECKONING

OF OUR CHOICES. DID WE, THIS DAY, DRINK OF EACH MOMENT

AS FROM A BEER CAN WITH THE TOP TORN OFF, DID WE THROW

ON THE AGILITY OF JORTS AND DEFEND THE WEAK

FROM THE TYRANNY OF THOSE RICH MEN AND WOMEN

WHO SHOULD BE STUNNED,

OR WERE WE AGAIN PERPLEXED?

COME UP, COME UP, AND SQUARE THE CIRCLE.

THE SAME THING THAT CAN BE LEARNED FROM A RAINSTORM

CAN BE LEARNED FROM STARING OURSELVES DOWN

AND WONDERING WHAT WOULD STONE COLD DO?

Sorry I was late for work.

I was folding paper

into cranes and drinking orange juice

until the headaches went away.

You know, if you make a thousand birds

the dragon comes and gives you anything.

In the park they have tables

with chess boards built right in.

Not playing chess at all was absolutely soothing.

So much so I breathed

out a cold cloud like a zen master

might ride.

In short,

I was reassured.

On the road to wherever she reads signs

they do not need

out loud,

but just outside the door,

she peels the last loose hair from his black coat

and he straightens.

We tend. We

tend. We

tend. Bread is raised

from dust.

If I’m standing

at your window,

palms flattened as in praise,

forgive me.

I just wanted to see

how warm your fire was.

*This person is not a total stranger. The creepiness of this poem is (I’m fairly certain) fine.

As a kid, I heard and said,

“Take it for granite,” as in

something safe to stand on in

any weather, as in

something that could hold

a phrase forever.

White stone at the quarry turns

the quarry water green

like it’s a deep dish of uncle Franz’s

“champagne deathray” (fizzy

water, chartreuse, and grain).

So much Franz

claims not to remember

but the recipe holds

like chains of nucleatides

or one bone in a tail

hiding beneath the smooth skin

of everyone in the family.

Moonwoke, I wandered

through the kitchen, the wood

cold as wet grass. I’ve never been

to your muggy NOLA,

but here’s a cup

from some Mardi Gras

you went to before going

without me would make sense

as a thing to get sore at.

Four months later,

and I’ve found the sink.

No cool water was worth this.

I have the right to do this surely.

This feels incorrect and I am frightened

of the lie that may be ready

to fall out from under this aplomb,

but above that I am happy,

I think since I’ve decided this.

We’ll see as always, but for now

life is real and I am so

excited.