Lilies and Olives
There was no way I could boil and
drink yesterday's espresso, or move
the olive tree to the ridge, or make
the sky forever purple, or perch in the
trees with the sparrows and blue jays.
There was no way I could forget how
you aimed the car toward the cliff when
I was only fourteen because you were
having one of the many rages.
There were wars all over the world on
the day of my eighteenth birthday when
my car broke down in Carmel and I tried
to look older with Max Factor as I waited
by the beach smelling the sand and spray
and foam from and the old fishing boats.
There was never a way to cut the fire
from my mouth and replace it with a
hand full of lilies and roses. I'll just stay
here among the California oranges and
sparrows listening to their infinite red
and brown stripped lives and on occasion
a hummingbird.
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