Magi

"...no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation"
TS Eliot, The Journey of the Magi

One tree only in our house, decorated
with tinsel and tradition. Eliot’s Magi
saw three trees and an old white horse
that galloped away leaving them
uncertain about birth or death.

This dawn in our house, Jesus sleeps
and the Magi are mute, so I hear
invitation in the poet’s soliloquy
and cannot be innocent. Quiet
and disquiet won’t remain. Arriving

are not Kings, but the bustle of family
and a new grandchild. We celebrate
innocence, giving, wonder. Our day
clamors with happy unwrapping
the clatter of dishes and love. Still

in the evening, I don’t leave with the Magi
transformed and glad of another death. Skeptical
I slip from the poet’s god as the poet’s voice
slips from me until it is just an uneasy
murmur of hearing and disbelief.

The Holiday Letter

Often pictures, mostly prose
How do they choose what they expose -

The births and dogs and college choices,
Sports awards, cherubic voices;

Kids are perfect, health is great,
One has found the ideal mate;

They’ve travel to some scenic dell
Or sometimes had the trip from hell;

New grandparents who boast out loud
That reproduction makes them proud;

It’s not all joy, sometimes there’s doubting,
True confessions, subtle outing;

She’s been hurt and he’s addicted,
Painful cries of souls conflicted;

Death of hamsters, flushed goldfishes
Mixed in with the holiday wishes -

These letters, yearly rights of pen,
Are Facebook for the older gen.

Around The Block

after A. R. Ammons “The City Limits”
http://poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15225

Walk with me around the block where we have lived
for two dogs, four cats and two children; if you wish,
we can take our old dog and young granddaughter;

our friend next door is divorced, her children
are at college and she is creating her new life; a doctor
lived here who was kind to me, and changed himself

to a woman; Regina, the horse, lived fifty-two years
in this pasture; in this house, a Halloween hot wax
bowl made ghostly duplicate hands; once the St. Bernard visited

and shocked our kitten who attached to his nose
like the sausage in The Three Wishes; before their graduations,
children skated this pond, sledded our hill; our son’s friend

enemy friend lived on this corner; across the street,
our daughter’s friend moved away; a lawyer and his wife
live around the next corner with their grandchildren

like us, and tough-love addicted children like us; the poet
beyond the turn is my mentor; once the dog who lived
here grieved our dog’s loss, but she is gone; over there

the curmudgeon bachelor made a home for lost children
and stray animals, he and his house are gone but a coyote
lives there; around the corner up the hill, the ancient

from Harvard carved a stone for his wife in woods
he lets us walk, he now believes conspiracies; it’s not
too steep, then we are home, then we are home.

Hello

Newspapers wait

at monogrammed gates

of the big house

across the street

where big trucks

arrived worked

announced their reversals

making the house perfect

for three who moved in

and locked the gates

The Derby

He
grasps line, doubles
rod – feels male, more
competition than dalliance. Hoping,
daring, challenged by The Derby,
alone, off-shore, naive sea
peace. Big one testing
our filament.
Spooling,
tighten drag,
don’t line out, turning,
retrieving. Turns away,
against drag, against tide.
Reverse boat, clumsy chase
backward, not steering, reeling,
tip up, tip up. Spool out,
back boat, reel in.
Dark
shadow,
what’s that? Dorsal
fin, great rolling belly,
white belly, half boat length,
boat length away. Skin plucks
taut line, nervous both ends. My
fish, goddammit, him and me, not you!
Awkward maneuver boat, fish,
shark. Lazy arrogance,
shark continues,
seals ahead.
Hour,
no give, line
binds, 7,000-pound boat,
unweighed fish, 12-pound
test. Must be big, Derby winner,
picture taken, little speech,
Hemmingway. Con-
centrate.
Half
hour,
arms tired – he
must be tired. Raise
him? No. Spool out,
hard to back, wind slaps
stern, sea peace gone, gusts
coming. Run again, waves top
stern, not safe. Pay attention.
What are we going to do here, fish?
He
lets go.
No tug, snap,
just release, simple easy,
end of handshake – good game,
sport. Game over, rewind line,
seaweed. Was that it,
just weed?
No
one
watched, I
never saw him. Hope
pride, imagination? Gone,
he didn’t get lure, I didn’t
get him, nor shark. No
trophy, no pictures,
nothing but
poem.

Birthday

Eager arms
welcomed, held, cared
for us on our birth
day. Some no longer
can. In time, we
were given children, held
their possibilities, healed
their hurts, these children
who will hold us too.

Not every day
is birth day, special
doesn’t rise with the sun.
We won’t miss
this day. We will eat cake,
not because we have no bread –
we have eaten bread fresh
with love, warmth,
and when it was hard, dry.
Today’s confection
is our celebration.
Surrounded,
friends witness our being,
hold us special.

Vertigo

Rocks in ears,
they call it, sounds
like musician's dream but
only ringing
remains. What it's not
is good – heart, stroke,
just annoying, not life-
threatening. Cheap
buzz requiring no
roller coaster, pirouette
or LSD. Getting up
will do. Evidence
that earth truly
spins.