Dichotomy

Today I saw scenes on the television screen
of men walking through a forest
They opened a cage
set their sights high
and shot down those they’d just set free

Today I saw scenes on the television screen
of men climbing a cliff
They reached the chosen spot
in a place so high the world below became pixelated
squares of blues and greens
They opened the cage door
the albatross opened its wings
(like a conductor about to create a concerto from silence
or when everything hangs in the balance)
it let the wind circle around each feather
took account of the weather
the world held its breath
and on the exhale
it
soared

To Write Them Down

A turn of phrase
or sayings they liked to use
and names they called special ones
it makes them live on

I heard her yesterday in my head
“don’t grizzle” she said
that’s what she used to say to me
“don’t grizzle”

He called me “Missy”
no one else ever has
I miss hearing that name
but it wouldn’t be the same if someone else starting using it

There’s one I never met
but when I’m told of his expressions it’s like I have
“Directly” he would respond, apparently,
when asked if he’d completed a task
“I’ll do it directly”

On the plaque in the remembrance garden
under the details of her life’s span
he signed it
“Until we meet again, love Squaddie”
that was her name for him
“Squaddie”

If I think of more
I’ll be sure
to write them down

Greenwich

I remember when
I saw the world laid out flat
on a map
it dawned on me
I could do that
I could go
anywhere I cared to see
all that was required was time
all the time in the world
lined up chronologically
I read it from left to right
continents and countries
oceans and vast seas
at my fingertips
and at my feet
and I promised myself the earth

For Those That Still Can Fly

I asked him
“where do all the birds end up?
the sky seems so full of formations and flocks
but I don’t see even one dead body a day
is there somewhere sacred they go to pass away?”

“No”
he replied
“I see them all the time after they’ve died
it’s usually a cat, or disease or old age”

which seemed such an unceremonious response
to the plight of the flightless amongst us
I was hoping for a more enthralling story
of wise and noble final journeys
to resting places worthy
of lives spent experiencing a borderless freedom
beyond our comprehension

At least, I guess
I can pay respect
by continuing to follow in his stride
as we go searching far and wide
our eyes searching high
scanning the sky
for those that still can fly

Even Your Eyes

You’ve been gone so long
even your eyes have picked up an accent
I used to know just what you meant
from only one look
an open book
reading between the lines
like secret messages we find
made of lemon juice on paper
for us to heat up and discover
for later
but now
somehow
over time
and distance
(or possibly linguistics)
something’s changed
your eyes don’t sound the same

A Beautiful View

A beautiful view sends her to
such a melancholy place
“life” she thinks
“is a torturous existence”
she’ll write a poem and rhyme it with “persistence”
later that night
after a fright
a small body will pull back the sheets
and climb into her bed
and their heads will touch
silence
and they’ll stare at each other
still silence
and after some time the child will return to her room
neither knowing who was the one most comforted