Selected Poems

Walking to Old (Japan, 1983)

I met an old woman. I watched her, hunched,

ready a space for the dead to eat

white rice in a smooth black laquer bowl. 

I suppose she slid in under me -

like the steps of our festival steps.

I met an old woman walking to the public baths,

metal basin and cloth

pressed firmly against her hip.

I suppose she slid in under me - like splendid wet heat

letting down her wrinkled skin.

I met an old woman in a striped farmer's jacket,

bent, beneath a cloth sack 

flattened down her spine.

I suppose she slid in under me - like tired bones.

Have you worked forever?

I met threee women - in passing

I suppose they slid in under me

like a road.

 ---First appeared in Red Hills Review

something about the sea

beneath your feet

the sand shifts, footprints

mark your passage

you could be followed

no one ever does

something about the sea

the gray blue range

the white noise of waves

dampens edges

(whatever they are)

makes us throw stones

launched side-armed

skipping three or

four times, if lucky.

it's a mercy of sorts.

I killed it

It lost focus - 

excited, or old

Either way, death smacks hard.

Its guts, red tangled in fur

hit twice

front and back wheels 

both.

The sun is brilliant

swallowing up the morning commute.

It is cold.

If I had stopped -

hovered my hands above its entrails

it would have warmed me, exhaling 

itself over the road.

—-First appeared in Soundings East