Got a warm reception with these two tonight:
FROM ELISE
The air is full of spider-threads, Father
you were right. When I went running through the forest
and the air was cold enough to bite, I saw leaves
suspended in mid-fall. Then the sun lit up—
like nets catching fire—innumerable tendrils draped
looped, whorled, crisscrossed, suddenly silver
in the treetops. I want to tell you, Father
I was there.
The sky was new, but the clouds were hoary
and the wind that blew tore from me
everything I could say, but in the choppy waves
of the pond I was lapping, there were eleven white swans
who would never lose faith in their only sister.
Some wings are lost, but one remains in memory of
her nettle-stung fingers and the dirt of the grave
beneath her nails. Don’t lock me out of your heart, Father
Because there is a room with no windows
in each person, there is a door, and leaves
gather in piles against the stoop, herded
by the autumn wind. Wait there
and all your memories will come floating back
like the wisps of gossamer which spiders weave:
you could make a coat from them
that the winter cannot break
Father, spider threads silver in your black hair
it is time to leave, and soon I will not know you,
but be glad that in an outpour of memory
words lost in the deluge
at least there will be a misty forest,
a pond and the wing of a swan. Listen;
there is a story of a journey in the wingbeats
They tell you of the leaves that never fall
(Inspired by The Mushroom River by Xue Di)
A SMART COOKIE
Today, I saw a cookie
Crossing the road;
I stopped it
and asked where it came from.
“Just at noon,”
said the cookie,
“I was taken from a jar
And placed on a plate;
A glass of milk was poured,
and when nobody was looking,
I tumbled off the table,
I rolled across the floor,
And as soon as it was open, then
I sidled out the door.”
Today, I saw a cookie
Crossing the road;
I stopped it
and asked where it was going.
“Just over there,”
said the cookie,
“It isn’t very far;
You see that tree across the road?
I’m going to sit under it
for a bit;
I hope to make it there
ahead of the rain.”
Today, I met a cookie
Crossing the road;
We parted ways
and it left me hoping
that if I ever am a cookie
I will be wise enough to know
How to get up and go
before it’s too late,
And intrepid enough to face
Life without an umbrella.
