Walking Song

So you’re the man who made long journeys
And fell flat by the roadside.

You got up, brushed dust from your jeans,
Expecting help one day, feeling helpless the next.

Can I tell you something you know?
This planet is curved.

All the roads on it follow that curve.
Even circuitous denials come back to where they began.

Not one man or one woman walks
On a path that doesn’t follow this rule.

I hear you humming a song, singing a few words
Stopping, looking down, then ahead, walking.

Bitten by whatever bites
And walking in shoes that have worn soles.

Tomorrow and next week are abstracts
Serving to divide where you’ve been

From where you will someday go.

September 1, 2009

Playground

When his challenge wafted, silence followed.
The ring of boys gathered. . .tightened -
Nuns stood near, habits flapping
Screeching, watching, but not closing in –
And his blond bangs hung over the right eye-
One vein in his neck pulsed
As he called me ‘little girl’.

On that day I found a way out,
Starting with a tingle behind my ears,
Then the raised pitch of my jumbled words -
(Small mice from the back of my throat)
Then came the slow fusion of steam, his and mine
Building in the space between him and me.
When he lunged, I closed my eyes. . .and
He passed through me.

Quiet, quiet, not a single word.
I opened my eyes and found I was standing, but gone . . .
On the playground, a belt,
My black pants, and white shirt remained.
No one spoke to me and none approached . .
To have disappeared in the dust of that moment -
Leaving the imprints of my feet
Just there in front of me -
Just there behind.

August 15, 2009