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“Open”
I had a friend in high school
Who used to give me a
Daily hug.
I squirmed
And felt uncomfortable.
But it was like a
Vitamin
And brought me a
Connection
That I needed.
This morning I drempt
Of another hug
By a friend I admired.
It was long
And rich.
I felt it in my body
And in my soul.
The best kind of dream.
I do not like to give hugs
In real life
For I fear they will
Reveal me.
My distaste for you
My passion for you
My deep love and need for you
My fear of you
And your judgement of me.
I’ve always imagined
That when I go to heaven
And see Jesus for
The first time
I would like to give him
A hug.
It’s one I’ve been saving
Full of all my longings
My thanks
My pains
And my pleasures.
Will I have a body to
Deliver this hug?
Arms to embrace
A head to bow?
In this time of isolation
I think about the hugs
I want to give
And perhaps those that
Others need.
When this is over
My arms
My heart
Will be open.
You broke my heart
And I don’t understand
What I did
Or didn’t do
To stop you from loving me.
All along
You’ve had my heart.
I gave it to you
And now a piece of me
Is missing.
I feel its loss,
And wait patiently
For its return.
“The Rural Carrier Discovers That Love Is Everywhere”
A registered letter for the Jensens. I walk down their drive
Through the gate of their thick-hedged yard, and by God there they are,
On a blanket in the grass, asleep, buck-naked, honeymooners
Not married a month. I smile, turn to leave,
But can’t help looking back. Lord, they’re a pretty sight,
Both of them, tangled up in each other, easy in their skin-
It’s their own front yard, after all, perfectly closed in
By privet hedge and country. Maybe they were here all night.
.
I want to believe they’d to that, not thinking of me
Or anyone else but themselves, alone in the world
Of the yard with its clipped grass and fresh-picked fruit trees.
Whatever this letter says can wait. To hell with the mail.
I slip through the gate, silent as I came, and leave them
Alone. There’s no one they need to hear from.
Wishing for something new…
“Routine”
No matter what we are and who,
Some duties everyone must do:
A Poet puts aside his sreath
To wash his face adn brush his teeth,
And even Earls
Must comb their curls,
And even Kings
Have underthings.
“Dust of Snow”
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
.
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
