Friday, September 28, 2012

Weekly Worded

   (for Leonard Cain)

When a medicine man dies his power
doesn’t leave the earth, but finds its way back
into the soil, pooled there by a soft rain,
pliable as a wet mound of clay on
a potter’s wheel, rising as the earth spins
until he’s with us again, tangible
as a bowl, fingers on the rim of a soul.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Weekly Worded


“I heard that actual books will soon be replaced by electronic ones.”
“Where did you read that?”
“I didn’t read it, I said I heard it.”
“From an actual person?”
“What other kind is there?”
“You must not have heard about evolution.”
“If you mean Darwin, yes, I’ve heard of evolution.”
“And what do you think about apes?”
“It’s an interesting theory.”
“One of the last apes said he’d heard they were being replaced by people.”
“That’s ridiculous.  Where did you read that?”
“I heard it.”

Friday, September 14, 2012

Weekly Worded

The Vegetable Opera

Acorn squash climbed the chicken wire fence
surrounding the garden, not looking for
a way out, but looking, as squash blossoms
do for a dependable shaft of light,

a slip of shade, a perch above the riot
of broad green leaves where they might practice
singing their deep-throated songs.  Then these
few acorns fattened on the vine and hung

there too, not in the usual shadows
but in the air, as if convinced they’d always
be flowers, humming the melody of
yellow, yellow, yellow, inside and out.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Weekly Worded

 Falling Toward Fall
         (for Axel Cedarwall)

    Rabbit brush blooming
    in the doorway of the old
    miner's cabin, rust

    from his crumpled tin roof still
    running like blood through his veins.