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When Mara sends his arrows into a bluebird he makes sure to be on the ground. He finds her up on a branch, chooses the tip carefully, the one drenched in self-doubt, the one about winter and how all of the berries will be layered in clear ice, and he... Continue reading
Posted Nov 14, 2019 at Meandering Companion
Al walks his dog at night when mountaintops, light-hearted and almighty vanish into songs that tattoo their bare-chested suffering into his American heart As a teenager, he sat at the community pool and watched the girls in their bikinis and the erotic boys on the stand guarding life from fear—boys... Continue reading
Posted Nov 12, 2019 at Meandering Companion
I am sitting now a lot, lately in place which is not what I am really doing. And it isn't dreaming, either. And it isn't counting sheep, or breaths but mostly yesterdays and tomorrows, lots of tomorrows, and sometimes heartbeats. There is a pulling me in to keep my eyes... Continue reading
Posted Aug 19, 2016 at Meandering Companion
I sleep with the flies for days and days and after I kill the baby copperhead I eat the chicken's thigh and the texture is the same and the same as sex after we fall asleep with our entrails all mixed up with the dirt and the red clay so... Continue reading
Posted Apr 18, 2016 at Meandering Companion
to the kitchen rounded moment of heels and gentle loads echoing walking, imagining our very own aging country road would, we would, become a relic simple, forgotten, and driven. So, watch her settle beyond windows whisper hidden where she keeps them where we exist Continue reading
Posted Apr 15, 2016 at Meandering Companion
Hunker down on the couch that we bought when we got married and tell me everything on your mind while we fall asleep and I hold you in my arms in the morning and they are tiny arms and you are you are growing and growing and my arms are... Continue reading
Posted Apr 10, 2016 at Meandering Companion
we want to be made of dirt and rain water rather we are made of hearts that have ears and mouths made of things that have to listen we want to take our time, and blend our lines seamlessly with our natural habitat but our decisions can only take us... Continue reading
Posted Apr 9, 2016 at Meandering Companion
there is a round table in the middle of the room. it is an imagined room. there is a chair for everyone to sit in. strong wooden chairs with strong wooden backs for all of us who are made mostly of water. a firm underneath, sure, we are also bone,... Continue reading
Posted Apr 8, 2016 at Meandering Companion
does telling tell us when we bend down to reach their ears that their wholeness is no longer ours -- explain what it is to die to those ears that accept your simplest story heaven makes sense And then eat dinner look for her everywhere. Continue reading
Posted Apr 6, 2016 at Meandering Companion
One thousand photographs adorn our walls-- not one of her. Of her, only an oil, green algae, yellow rose, everyday orange over the breakfast table, where her ghost still prowls for crumbs. She is in the pictures anyway, her eyes cutting through windows, her nails tapping on the wood floors... Continue reading
Posted Apr 3, 2016 at Meandering Companion
Leap into the air from the highest point while I wait at the bottom watching you fly, expecting poetry to drop from luxurious feathered appendages down on to me, to us--simple answers to all of my all of our hard questions I will pick at a line of corduroy on... Continue reading
Posted Apr 2, 2016 at Meandering Companion
there is a place for us in the country with a river, trees, five acres, bookshelves in every room words have been written too and the people there are quiet doers who love each other and the world enough to pick out a narrow swath, give it life when we... Continue reading
Posted Apr 1, 2016 at Meandering Companion
Now that you have been soaked by rain water And left to dry out in the gray morning You can walk with confidence to the edge of the ocean and jump into the cold without worry of floating away you and the ghost that runs out from the dunes Hold... Continue reading
Posted Apr 1, 2016 at Meandering Companion
Iron people walk on water to husk metallic loads of shrimp, eat steamed from round round bowl used by hundreds yesterday-first today after lunch. Tobacco stand and emptiness drive and drive and drive and drive reckoning cry try a million mistakes thinking something we do done when nothing is in... Continue reading
Posted Mar 30, 2016 at Meandering Companion
broken seagull on the shore--boys dig holes around her little graves little hands filled adult shovels waiting for her to fall her wing dragged in the sand tonight look out see her in dark sky, trembling dunes waiting to swallow her whole when the universe looks away she imagines what... Continue reading
Posted Mar 29, 2016 at Meandering Companion
if a butterfly means new life, then a broken seagull must mean old death. I saw her on the shore today as my boys dug holes all around her I hope she didn't get the wrong idea--little graves little hands filled up with adult shovels waiting for her to fall... Continue reading
Posted Mar 28, 2016 at Meandering Companion
Slowly the father, read you, closes the door to the church nursery, yes slow slow but firm, resolved, he tells his daughter okay it's okay you're okay and she cries and her cries are heard in the carpet traveling traveling down the hall, past the prayer room, and the pastor's... Continue reading
Posted Mar 27, 2016 at Meandering Companion
you drive over the longest bridge at night when you look at me and think about how all of this is a much better dream than if we had decided to stay home tonight and then I look you over and distant lights of ships hover and swell sea around... Continue reading
Posted Mar 26, 2016 at Meandering Companion
I have a hypothesis, it's that poets live forever. And if I can get in there, get free let my hair blow wild and my heart sing loud to you, and you, and you and you and you then I have a real shot. I hear that I need a... Continue reading
Posted Mar 25, 2016 at Meandering Companion
I asked him to lay back, close his eyes, breathe, say when he was ready he breathed and said ready dad. I told him again to close his eyes, look up at the sky, and he did--believing me trusting me, it would not hurt. The needle was quiet. He doesn't... Continue reading
Posted Mar 24, 2016 at Meandering Companion
and she keeps wishing that I will walk over to the edge of the bed and take up a pen and write something down in her book And he is on the pulpit looking down at us looking down at me waiting for me to look up and I look... Continue reading
Posted Mar 23, 2016 at Meandering Companion
Now I am up and looking into the still dark morning learning surrender --- There are mornings, like this one, I am overcome ennui leaves too much ... exhaustion is real, for me and I am weak, too. wet piles of dog shit greet me ... When we are at... Continue reading
Posted Mar 22, 2016 at Meandering Companion
I look at you across the cabin and you remember too there is somewhere else we can go The island is old but not dead, so we are told there is somewhere else we can go I believe in the sunset happening between our windows and I grab for your... Continue reading
Posted Mar 21, 2016 at Meandering Companion
I wouldn't say that the blankets were the first things to go, but, of course they were. Buy a new duvet every year, every month, and now buy mounds and mounds of food, half of it rots we throw it into the bottom of the yard where deer find it... Continue reading
Posted Mar 20, 2016 at Meandering Companion
I am not breathing the same. Strained, forced. Sometimes I forget. Push down my chest with your hand. Leave there, add body, then pet. It helps alleviate me. Could stand a little of that to get me through a today. It seems I can't tolerate what I need to. We... Continue reading
Posted Mar 19, 2016 at Meandering Companion