sometimes I wonder (revisited)
Sometimes I wonderif she ever existed.
—found poem
Sometimes I wonder
if she ever existed.
Only a smile now
a gesture
copper hair flashing
she fades even in dreams
artist in the supermarket
She stands in the aisle like reverse Stendhal:frozen, her hand extended over the mound of apples.
Apples push into her like the fists of a lover
knocking at a locked door, urgent, juicy, plump.
It's always like this: fruit overwhelms, vegetables
scream longing; fresh trout imagines a sizzling grill,
beef lounges in a marinade, ready to sear.
She wants to paint, to cook, to knead warm
transit
Night. City street after rain.Early autumn leaves cling to the pavement
like wet hair on a waiting face.
Amber and blue incandescence
lies in pools for walking entrances,
performances and exits,
as the occasional soloist mimes
man walking alone on the street
concert
engine idle just beyond theancient boathouse
river calm and waiting silent
to the weed beds
and the spaces vast, beyond
ease the throttle slowly forward
hear the engine twist
inside the music
The part I sing in our quartethovers above or below the melody;
often it sounds like the French horn.
The Lead's note sounds familiar;
the Bass is the solid foundation;
the Tenor lilts above all, thrillingly;
my part, the Bari, fills it all in.
cocoon
Inside the silk threadsis what will come:
beautiful wings,
gleaming reds, yellows, blues,
curves and strength,
the freedom of flight
instead of plodding,
gnawing eating.
lotus eaters
This is the first in a series I started a while back. I should write a few more on this . . .everyone on the street was
somewhere else
listening to music
words from another time
another place
after
She used to purr when she leaped onto the bed;I prefer to think of her arrivals.
I could read her expressions through the fur:
glad to see me (and usually was):
relaxed eyelids, fur sleek off the face;
impatient with my stupidity:
Mauve and Gold
If a god were eating strawberriesWhen that sunset happened,
I know he'd stop in mid-bite
With red sweet juice dribbling
Down his chin onto his toga
And just stare and do a god-thing:
driving home
The sun set just before we turned west onto the roadthat curved into the pure black landscape silhouetted
against the absolutely clear tangerine and indigo sky.
As our headlights revealed and dismissed the familiar
meanderings of this riverside route and its clusters of cottages
On being mistaken for myself
Photos never lieexcept when they must,
with a minimum of mendacity,
tell welting whoppers
about how egregiously old
the old codger has become.
I have studied photos
taken years ago
that make me look
what was left
First they took away the all moneypoured it into the government trough
and they fed the war in Afganistan
but still that wasn't enough
so they crucified the artists
and they stood around and laughed
milik
[milik: Inuit for very soft snow]
perhaps it was the giddy
first blush of puppy love
but he awoke
that morning knowing that
she would be at the pond
with her girlfriends
and there he could skate
in the same air as she
after a quick but hearty
breakfast he sped
to the pond with
his scraper and skates
and was soon
clearing the milik
from the hard blue ice
as he sped around the pond
the light dusting of fresh snow
fluffed into the sharp fresh air
the sky was sharp cobalt blue
his puffs of breath
mingled with the lofting snow
then she was there
with her friends
and he was drifting
gently over the pond
rising easily into the cobalt sky
aqiluqqaq
[aqiluqqaq: Inuit for soft snow]
Out in the winter morning
the air snaps peppery
aqiluqqaq sifts off feathery
soft trickling streams of white
from dark fir magic wands
The trail glistens listens
for the soft-pitched slice
of thin skis susurration
propelled by long springing
sliding strides ong slung
poles’ extension to quadruped
Eyes blur in the edged cold
maples are slender silhouettes
clean verticals against the horizontal
white where shadows are blue
and white is soft and brilliant
aqiluqqaq
qimaugruk
[qimaugruk: Inuit for snowdrift blocking trail or a building]
Soon after daybreak
we heard the good news
on the radio:
all the roads were blocked;
school was cancelled.
One glance out the window
confirmed the situation:
snow was blowing
ripping the surface of roofs,
buildings, yards, the very street itself
into vague white smears
eventually sculpting driven snow
into massive sleek curving
abstracts of the land beneath.
Next door, snow topped
the roof of the house
in a giant vertical wave
worthy of the surf at Oahu.
When we finally tried to
get out for some groceries
our door was blocked by
qimaugruk over the top;
we had to climb out
a window on the far side
and ski to the store.
natigvik
[natigvik: Inuit for snowdrift]
When I was a kid of fifteen
I was a downhill skiing fanatic:
I competed in races and skied
every chance I got.
On weekends
that included taking the bus
out to the big ski hill
and skiing across the lake
and into the bush to the ski tow.
After the day was over
I would ski out
and wait alone for the bus
at the side of the wide lake
with my skis and my packsack.
This day, I remember,
I arrived at the bus stop
in time to see the bus
chugging up the hill
away from me.
A storm was blowing up,
it was getting dark
and I had to wait
an hour for the next bus.
I could either freeze to death
in the open wind
that swept across the lake
or take action.
I had no choice:
I burrowed into
the huge snowdrift
out of the wind
and contemplated
my wonderful day
while I waited out the storm
secure and comfortable
in natigvik.
aniuvak
[aniuvak: Inuit for snowbank]
A great winter pleasure
for northern kids is
building a snow fort
of tunnels and rooms carved
in the bowls of a snowbank.
You will notice I said
building is the great pleasure;
they hardly ever last
beyond construction.
To make a snow fort
you need an anuviak,
energy and a shovel,
and a dream of building
a kingdom of one’s own.
I can remember warrens
of tunnels and rooms
and outlooks and
secret entrances
and arches and
spires and spy holes
and ammunition
[trans: snowballs]
and secret rooms and
hiding for hours
and coming out the next
day to find it busted
and starting over
after the next storm and
anuviak
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