June 1

-for Loren-

The sky opened tonight
to the summons of air
plush with rain like tropical wings,
fluttering and trapped 
near the earth.

Cinnamon and narrow as a tardy boy
slipping into his seat unnoticed
I catch sight of my brother,
drifting spirit
at the edge of white oaks
near the old International.

It is nearly a year 
since he planted his last gardens
at the farm where we all put our hands
in the dirt. Peas, beans, and purple eggplant.
Hot peppers and beets. Clockwork of the season
our parents taught us to love.

That memorial day, even he was unaware,

unprepared to leave the flock's formation,

tidy rows like our mother's

until he crossed the line

he had crossed so many times.

Flummoxed.

Cornered with no way out.

unforgiving--

He changed

his mind

too late.

Fever Dream

After years of masking against the invisible enemy 

the cough and fever consume me, 

even my voice is gone 

forcing me to bed.  

 

It was the teenager, 

fearless and determined,  

who brought it home 

just like a brutish friend 

at midnight, fully eclipsed 

under cover of purple gypsy music 

or hippy long locks wailing

at the blood moon. 

 

I gnash my mind 

enrobed in weakened pride 

that looks like silent meditation 

while I wait in my sweltering sheets 

for the rattling congestion 

to collide 

with morning tea. 

 

I shuffle,

take fever-breaking tablets, 

nurse warm liquids 
into my raw throat. 

In my broken dreams 

I drive my first car, grey 

on dusty backroads

in Minnesota 

frantically looking for my parents 

and my dead brother. 

 

There is no forgiveness 

for being this kind of human. 
 

 Peepers' Love Song 

It occurred to me at dusk’s dimming 

that peepers in April 

pledge solemnly,  

with each note, 

to love their bodies 

and forget the tadpoles

that will shiver out 

of their amphibian selves 

into the bridge between frozen 

and the tantrum of cattails

slime and sun

to grapple with time, 

if only for a short while. 

And we, who stand near

this stagnant swamp, 

simply long to love 

what is impossible 

to understand 

beyond the sweetest of songs  

in this embrace

of spring.