Tag Archives: life

The Possibility of Hands

Possibility of Hands

I hold your hand

palm up, lace your

fingers with mine,

stretch the palm wide

so my thumbs can press

tight muscles into pools

of softened warmth;

open, your hand could

slap a child’s face,

brush away crumbs,

press the sternum for

resuscitation,

shape the sides of

a porcelain bowl

while fingers curved could

pull a trigger—crosshair

parting the bridge between

eyes, press rounded keys to

blow jazz through

brass, suture severed

flesh with catgut and needle—

within this skin

no purpose but life.

Thank you to the editors of Poets for Peace and http://lit.carayanpress.com for publishing this poem.

Dark in Light

Dk in Lt

Dark in Light

Wanted to show you the moon
but cruised off the wrong ramp
and wound up in a war zone
where there is no curfew:
men standing solo in the middle of the street
or huddled, talking beneath burned-out lamps;

wanted to show you the soccer moon
but drove down darkened roads with bars
enclosing windows and doors,
barbed wire spiraling a hardware
store and nursery—planks and daisies
out of reach;

wanted you to count the seas
across that haloed orb
but drove alone
through neighborhoods as treeless
as that dog-song moon;
beat-up cars driven
beyond unmarked borders
pulled over by uniforms
with clubs and guns,
jagged tension cutting concrete air;

I want to know who
declared this war of Americans
against Americans:
children peer from sheeted windows,
women hide behind hollow doors,
a man looks up from an empty street,
each of us equal
distance from the sun’s reflective sphere.

Thank you to the editors of Something Like Homesickness and Literary Well/Pozo Literario for, respectively, printing and then reprinting this poem.

http://lit.carayanpress.com/eweaver.html

Simultaneity

horse closeup

Simultaneity


When you touch me—I am

breath rather than a woman breathing.

One thousand wings, a single beat,

split sky with summer rain.

Breath rather than breathing

fills the empty glass.

Split sky with summer rain

to reveal horses carved in stone.

Fill the empty glass

with wine of roses, lilac, heather;

reveal horses carved in stone

but not hands that formed their symmetry.

With wine of roses, lilac, heather,

toast grass that fractures concrete blocks

but not hands that formed the symmetry

of streets concealing streams.

Toast grass that fractures concrete blocks

beside the woman reaching towards you;

on streets concealing streams

she begs for food, shelter beyond grasp.

There is a woman reaching towards you;

her face is old, possessions few,

as she begs for food, shelter beyond grasp,

and I see you, I see myself within her mask.

Her face is old, possessions few;

she came to laugh—she came to love,

and I see you, I see myself within her mask

reflecting how the earth breathes.

We came to laugh—we came to love;

one thousand wings, a single beat

reflecting how the earth breathes

when you touch me.

~ Thank you to the editors and staff at Screbendi http://scribendi.unm.edu/ for first publishing this poem.