iambs
work, done well, with heart,
is hard to tell from play.
why try? we’re best when they
entwine. what more is art?
work, done well, with heart,
is hard to tell from play.
why try? we’re best when they
entwine. what more is art?
each square foot of home has a different temperature
incense jasmine sweat and rice
the train the neighbor practicing the trumpet
the lingering tang of dinner
the contrast between wood and painted plaster
stillness longing safety scheming
having-sensed and having-yet-to-sense
the luxury to notice
after-dinner poems
longfellow and silverstein
the hearts of friends, found
slowed by aching joints
from hours and miles of travel
she breathes through the pain
so we can share a table
with food and words and laughter
this is how I know I’m not doing it right,
and haven’t been for all these years:
i treasure the craft of a poem like a special occasion
instead of like brushing my teeth.