She sat on the porch steps
watching people pass by, chewing her lip,
wishing for a smoke.
I used to wonder what she’d look like smiling
and when I finally saw it, it was terrifying.
A manic ode to silent films, all in her eyes.
She was usually alone
but I suspect
she kept ashes of her dearest enemies
she’d cursed and swept up in her vacuum.
It was always a full canister.
“I have unsuccessfully tried
to mother a cactus,” she once told me,
with a knowing look.
There were clumsy attempts at hugs
but they were always met with mockery,
making me feel a clumsy giant
in her Lilliputian view. I can almost laugh now
but my heart still catches in my throat
when I see a cactus in bloom.

Post-news game show battles
in the living room
with the fan pushing summer air
around the clues.

It’s a leisurely break
from the fatigue
of a quiet madness
of middle age.

My daughter is galavanting
in the county with her girls
as my son weighs retirement
options for his first real job.

Time is slipping away
but it’s right there
on a moth’s wing
at my window screen.

Cardigan brigade
of secretaries in summer,
restocking the candy jars
like ammunition
before a hungry calendar

Little-known yearnings
of quiet time-keepers
become shaped like
mythical fruits that fly
just above the clouds

Love stories living inside
someone old enough
to understand and disregard
irony would be funny
if not for the heartbreak

My body barely recognizes
danger, unmoved as the shape
of trees is like an echo of an old
story- mine, maybe but bigger
and startling like a harvest moon
when you’ve lost track of time.

I don’t make bargains
but freely give pieces of myself
and don’t forget touch.
Especially when it’s moonlight.

Wondering how high we can climb
takes up a lot of my thoughts,
whether we could find our way
back or even if we would want to.

I think I can see further across miles
now than when my eyesight was better, and
I was distracted by what was in front of me.

I follow my senses, which aren’t reasonable
and I feel currents on the air and water
as if I’m made of bendable stuff.

We bend together when we need
the same view.

I want to show you the hemlocks,
the ferns, the wild honeysuckle.
I know you’ve seen them before
but we’ve not seen them together.