Elephants

An elephant is the only mammal
that cannot jump.
I guess that's why it stands here
in the middle of the living room
while we serve tea on its back
and speak in hushed tones.

Totems

We must make totems of ourselves,

carve our faces and our hands into hardwood poles.

We must sculpt ourselves from clay, from stone.

How else will the gods find us?

They must know us by our bodies,

by our hands.

To Carry On

Your memories are like moths

beating their wings around my head

as if I am a beacon of light

but I am shrouded in fog

and the horn fails to blow

and the load is heavy

but I carry you everywhere I go

Snow on Cedars

It is Monday morning.

There is snow lying on the cedars

outside the window.

The cat is sleeping

on the afghan-covered couch.

Dishes are stacked in the sink.

There is a basket of clean laundry

at the foot of the bed.

I will not pet the cat today.

I will not wash the dishes.

I will not fold the laundry.

The best that I can hope for

is to remember the snow on the cedars.

Pigs’ Blood

Terror spills like pigs’ blood

on the slaughterhouse floor

soaked up by sawdust

but the smell-

you can smell the blood

and the terror

four blocks away

where between the old row houses

women hang laundry to dry

and half-clothed children play.

Holding Hope

The life expectancy of a newborn

is little more than that of a monarch.

Their wings are so fragile.

Each downy hair, each tiny feather,

holds so much hope.

Standing in a River

You stand in a river and thirst.

You are up to your knees in truth and goodness,

up to your knees in the light

yet your eyes remain fixed on darkness.

It’s not about who you slept with

in the back of a Chevy when you were sixteen.

It’s not about the time you stole

a bottle of wine from the Seven-Eleven.

It’s not about the lies and the anger and the spiteful words.

It’s about the light inside.  The love and the holiness.

And if you’re not careful, the current will drag you under

and pull you out to sea.