There’s no tractor this night
with lights working the tired field
as October blusters
onward, shuffling into crackly leaves
and forgotten gourds,
but the hum is present
like maybe it’s always been
but I’ve not been quiet enough to hear it.
The Hum
My ears popped and I could hear
clearly- not that I knew I had been muddled-
and I was too embarrassed to ask
if anyone could hear the constant low hum
or was I hallucinating
a distant aircraft
or are they racing coupes again in the dirt
or maybe it’s farm machinery at night,
making weird associations
reminding me of a childhood
I didn’t have, with animals and fresh bread
and a porch swing…
Somehow climbing the stairs
brings fresh sounds, like an aural Alpine gust
and I think maybe I’m the only one
listening.
A sneeze is coming and I’m afraid
of losing the hum when my ears un-pop.
Curbside Utopia
In a perfect moment,
shadows would not take anyone’s place
and there’d be no need for consolation-
Touching would be everything
and no calculation would be extraneous
because we are not ever unnecessary
Concrete would be beautiful cracked
and no toll would be needed
to take the heart of me
Valiant weeds would be heralded
making their stand between your teeth
as we crest before sunset
He can wrangle rivers
and still guide me
through nightfall
with all its ensuing chaos,
unseen and keenly felt.
Disco paradise
I lived in a house near an airport
for a short part of my childhood.
I also lived near the ocean.
I don’t like flying or swimming.
I lived near a disco on the highway
and had palm trees in my yard.
I worried I’d be taken
late at night by revelers hiding in the palms.
I worried more
that my parents wouldn’t notice.
I’d rest my chin on the windowsill
watching colored lights
and sparkling drunk people
act out constellation myths.
As much as I liked the salt air,
I knew I didn’t belong
where fruit was abundant
and urban orgies were a way of life.
The Word Rummager 