library 4th floor

sitting on the floor
in the stacks of the
library holding a book
by a newly dead author

look out the window
grey, cloudy

rub my eyes yawn
lean my head against
the shelf
breath deeply

look out the window
again

flip through the book
the soft ftt-ftt-ftt of the
pages fills the acoustic
void

sigh deeply
get up stretch a
bit

browse the shelves

look out the window
once more

walk down stairs

Age gives no indication of years remaining,
only the number accumulated.

Visiting Tui, a distant memory

Tui lives in a tiny clapboard house
in a small forgotten Western town
surrounded by a little yard of parched grass
a shade tree, a rusted swing set
She lives alone, she has no children
she is in her mid forties I guess.
She is my friend and visits with her are easy
she is a spinner and a weaver
she also loves to knit.
Her old Galaxie has a bumper sticker which reads
"so much yarn, so little time."
Time - hangs suspended in mid air in her cozy home
The kitchen has stainless steel sinks which line the walls to hold batches of home made dyes- indigo, onion skins and spinach greens.
The living room is a wooden spinning wheel showroom of sorts, wooden boxes hold skeins of yarn, from ceiling to floor.
The kitchen, tea and cup cozy,
ambition doesn't live here. There's no where to be, no one needed, everything is here and now.
One day while I was visiting, Tui led me to her bedroom in search of a magazine article.
Bed piled high with fat handmade quilts, warm golden carpet, sunlight.
She looks under her bed for the magazine and instead pulls out a dark wooden lock box.
Without a word, she opened it and held the certificate of commendation for me to read.
From the President of the US
A certificate of bravery and accomplishment for her Father, now deceased
For his contribution as crew on the Enola Gay

You're Not Seeing Me

-
you're not seeing me.
I'm talking
but no amount of reasoning
or preparation can get
my thoughts through.
I'm backing it up with
actions, daily living
puncuates my voice
but to no effect.
You're not seeing me
and there is no
way around that.
-

God Who?

Today's news
is incomprehensible, stupid,tragic
I found the article after
the phone call from the mother
of the daughter

my friends-both.
Can I fix her hair-for the viewing-did i know-
her daughter
is dead?
No, i didn't know
No i cannot believe
the young and beautiful teenager
silly- vain- smart
apparently happy -
could take her own life.
The reports are now in
it was an accident- most likely
Regardless by accident or on purpose
the question seems to incessantly haunt me
-Where is God?
Where?


This poem was in the obituary this morning:
In Memoriam

Rhiannon

1993-2008

Funeral Blues:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let the aeroplanes circle moaning overhead, Scribbling on the sky the message She is Dead, Put Crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policeman wear black cotton gloves.

She was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

- W.H. Auden