One Day, Same Night

Heavy rollers. Gray shrouded day.
Diffusion of light.
Confusion of thought.
I am aware of the denseness that saturates me.
Bright night. Stars pierce sky.
Concentration of light.
Clarification of thought.
I soar.

Calling him

At first, I called him. 
I wanted to check in so he didn't check out.
I wanted to see if I could detect him leaving me,
In the sound of his voice
In the words that he used
In who he spoke about most

Sometimes I would feel down
I did not mean for this to become a daily habit
A habit yes, but not a daily habit.
Can't we skip a night here or there?

Then he would call.
He would apologize for disturbing me
That was not what I wanted
Not to make him feel bad or sad
Or un-thought of

Now it has been a year.
Sometimes I call.
Sometimes he calls.
We skip nights here and there.
There are no apologies.
Though there is an uncertainty in his voice
A rush to let me get back to whatever I do

It is mostly one sided
He tells me about his dinner
Sometimes his breakfast
He tells me who has left the building
Who is planning to leave
Who has moved in
About the sisters who watch out for each other
He tells me the stories from yesterday
The stories from the day before
Sometimes the stories from the day before that
The same stories he told me yesterday
And the day before that

I used to try to make sense of the dates and order of things
Now I just let it wash over me
If it doesn't make sense
It is okay

He asks about the weather where I am
He sometimes asks about my dinner
Usually when his was not very appealing

By having thoughts he can share
He knows he is not checking out
Not yet
Little by little
So it goes

"Hey dad, how are you doing?"
"Well........"

First impressions

Friendly, polite people 

who smile and laugh easily

common to offer a hand

to say excuse me and please

Big sky and bright sunlight

More green and trees and plants than low desert

Cool in the morning 

lovely penetrating warmth each afternoon

Town is full of shops all full of treasures

Navajo rugs, pottery, and pipes

Coral and turquoise and silver jewlery

Navajos from the rural surround are cowboys

Cowboy boots and big-brimmed hats

Wrangler jeans and western snap front shirts

Rodeo grounds in every  town

Fleshy

Fleshy
I have become a fleshy woman
There are dimples in my upper arms that used to be firm of muscle
My belly is full
I still imagine I may have a flatness in the space of rolls
I imagine it flat again one day
My action is planning
I have an idea of how to accomplish this
I cannot act on my plan

Am I unhappy in my fleshy body?
at times
Is it the body that is the source of the unhappiness?
Not really

Unless the fleshy body is the reason
I find it difficult to love
to love me
to love another

Unless the fleshy body is the reason
I don't trust
don't trust myself to make good choices
don't trust others to be honest and open

Unless the fleshy body is the reason
I am stuck
stuck in a place to which i feel no connection
stuck in a job that I only partially enjoy

Unless the fleshy body is the reason
I am losing interest
losing interest in life
losing interest in living fully

Bench

Bench

There is a bench off the sidewalk

Across the street

On the edge of an empty lot

At a nameless corner where nothing happens

No bus, no business, no traffic

Every day people stop at that bench and rest

Are they taking a break from something unseen?

Are they homeless and therefore bench-less?

Are they taking a break on sunny days?

Do they have time on the way to an appointment?
Is the bench a repository for extra time?

Is there a way which the extra time can be withdrawn?

What kind of time would be available?
Tired, walked all day time?
Slept in the bushes last night time?
Waiting for court time?

It appears to be just a bench.
Is it solace? Is it rest?
Is it privilege?
Is it a keeper of time?

electricity

a faint electricity travels around inside me

it starts in the middle of my chest and radiates out

bouncing back when reaching the end of my toes

shooting out my fingertips

the real world grounding me with every light touch

the electricity is created in the heart world

it is a by-product of love

the tittering, twittering first blush of romance

when the word love can not sit on nor flit from the lips

it is the alarm clock of your inner self

it wakes you, as it reminds you of how much you can feel

howler monkey haiku

Howler monkeys in the trees

Booming, hoarse warnings

I feel my heart beat harder