Oaks and Orchids

I’ve been there in three senses.
That last 0.2 in Jersey,
ATL, Arlington, West Virginia,
and beneath a covered bridge
in Bend.
The sluggish bog – your
knees – but face set
and mind euphoric.
I always sprint the end,
even when my 110% is still
a 10-minute mile.
I went to school in Cambridge,
77 Mass Ave a launching
point for so many thoughts…
and runs.
That’s the Marathon Sports
where I bought my first
water bottle and Asics.
Then, 2009, as medical
support around mile 10.
Elites moving so fast I
didn’t really see them.

What would I have done on Monday?
We all say we’d go back,
run through the flames, help,
do the “right” thing.
I hope so, and someday,
I’ll run towards that line,
nonetheless.

(BEANTOWN)

Sweet tea, smacking of South,
in red solo cups on your front porch.
1980’s plastic banded chairs,
white and pastel stripes.
The constant statement –
“Your Daddy gets this
table when I’m gone.
Yes sir.”
An exhale that’s half
whistle, arms crossed
in the sun,
skin rough from
decades ago,
and the gas heat
set to febrile peak.

Tara and I sprawled on carpet
peppering out questions
about faces in photo albums,
Christmas cards an
Arc de Triomphe
in the living room.

I know you’re up there,
sitting, watching planes
fly by, and talking.
Hug them all for me, too,
Granny.

(MEMORIES, For Faye Grose Long, 4/21/1916 – 2/27/2013)

Settle back
into books,
cocoon paper
and metal
three-rings
bound to
ever-evolving
vocabulary
more words,
and bigger

Grass slick with
dew on three-mile
run
fresh sun
burns fog and
Rex licks up
the green.
Look up –
mist-entwined
eighty-foot oaks,
rough bark clings
to morning robe,
Don’t Look:
Think.

Rex pulls left
Bluetick in him
nose to ground
Could I be so
interested
ignore bite of cold
metal then relent?
Nothing there but
dust trampled daily,
neurons on
stimulation overload

Shepherd barks,
Rex’s ears prick
I rein him in –
we’re still going
this way.

(RUN IN AUGUST)

REX

105 degrees outside on 29th June
Brought him home hours ago but he still pants.
Power’s out and Mom left at 5.

Walk outside to check my car
gas light’s on – I never filled up
before Hawai’i.
Made Alex throw all the extra candles out
– why keep them, they’re unscented –
Air’s off and I sweat.
Phone died sometime after 8
all the analog clocks are packed
a single tea light only burns so long.

Chainsaws roar – for trees on lines or roads?

Pull the old cassette player from “SPEAKERS” box
unpeel plastic from ON BLUE NOTE
– copy from Bill, not Amazon –
put it in with two AA’s.
Listen.
Just listen.

I think you could make a record Bill, only
please let Bev do all the singing.

Neighbor’s toddler jumps in mud puddle as
raccoon dives into gutter.
I miss these places you’re talking of –
Boston, South End, Storrow and its cars. But mostly 77,
columns and classes, the bench in 1, my lab

Getting darker now – birds are back
but I’d like some English Breakfast Tea
to accompany this blazing sunset

(for william corbett)

I bought a carton of raspberries
at the market. Every time
I drop one in my mouth
I can’t resist rolling it around
my tongue. The fuzziness –
sparse, exquisite roughness, your stubbled
cheek against mine while you
hug my worries away.
The way they crunch when chewed.
Reminder – they’ve seen days of
sun and won’t give up so easy.
There’s a stain on my favorite
old sweatshirt to prove it.

West Virginia’s starting to smell
of honeysuckle. Delicious.
I roll down all the windows,
stick my head out like the coonhound
in that battered pickup. Inhale until
lightheaded I’m delirious with smiles.

(MAY)