Poem 142

thoughts on adoption

So graciously they came to flight

the hopeful helpless thunder feet

a wonder peril of sweetest destiny—

Hush the yellow breath of youth.

My mother was a dandelion;

a child of spring who—white tipped—

fall time scattered her loveliness a-gail.

& we were seed babies, the loneliest

of kinfolk. Trilling about in the southbound

winds, propellors. By night we

saught the dog star,

untangled leo’s mane,

unbuckled orion’s belt.

& we were happy—to be swept away

by high breezes / to root ourselves

amid gardens, beside blessed blooms

our hearts cracked open to reveal

a green gnawing to grow & like the mums

among us we were trimmed / pruned / fertilized.

But I wonder of my mother—a capricious weed.

If someday too I’ll flock my seeds

to be forgotten.


Poem 74 Revised

Very much like the acorn
-A glossy grove encapped-
The ebony beak crack
Clack cackling at the stem.
How then do you tell the acorn,
Wrecked surely from the feat
That birds too need to eat.
Very much like the acorn,
Bitter to the tongue and
Worse to the soil a foot
With gravity wasting no effort
To drag it smoothed under.
Very much like the acorn,
Thick shelled tree-shot
Lether-metal skinned seed
Where bird must feed
On the crisp new acorn
It too must be cracked to proceed.

Poem 74

on swallowing my ego

very much like an acorn
capped absentmindedly risking
the ebony beak crack
clack cackling at the stem.
what then do you tell the acorn
wrecked surely from the feat
that birds too need to eat.
very much like the acorn,
bitter to the tongue and worse
to the ground afoot with
gravity too wasting no effort
to pull it smoothed under.
very much like the acorn,
perhaps contrite, perhaps
but don’t you look smugly behind
the cricket eye of anonymity.
a bird needs to eat of the thick skin of
a new acorn, and it too must be broken to proceed.


Poem 74 RevisedPoem 74 Edited