This City in 100 Words or Less

It isn’t easy to be old
here in this city that worships
wealthy parents and student loans,
especially if you’re too freeform
to ever be tenured or thought of as a scientist.
To be truly appreciated here,
it helps to be
a statue or a plaque
commemorating something else
that is even older.

Compass

Now that I can only
limp rather than
walk in a straight line,
and can seldom achieve
the end of the block without resting,
I finally bought one. It’s here

by the coffee my heart doctor
wants me to quit, and the towering
stack of blank travel journals
that will always be
empty.

Aunt

I loved
all
the little children
one
by one they left
taken
to new places by jobs
schools, families, wanderlust,
or the simple busyness of life,
growing up,
growing old
loving their own
little children.

Dream State

Even the places here are turning
to dreams.
From the bus window, I point out landmarks:
I used to live on the second floor of a blue house down that street
I used to buy lunch from the hot buffet in that market and then skip dinner
I used to feed the feral cats in that park and was especially fond of a black and white kitten
but I don’t remember
the street address, the best entre, the kitten’s name.
Where I was and
who we were
a decade ago, two decades ago,  
half-a-century past
is nearly unconjurable,
as if it never,
as if you never
happened
at all.

late in the season


waiting in a straight back, dining chair
pressed into service at the desk
not waiting for phone or door bell
or someone to finish something
waiting for my heart to become
less free form,
less painfully given or received back
more as one would expect
as if even at night, it pursues dominion
the way a lover pulls sateen blanket edges,
tugs over worn pillows,
nudges a little, thumps, rolls, nudges again –
as if, daylight divulges so much
that my heart refuses
to be seen at the dance