The colors of confusion
were not clarified for me
red was muddy water
and green was
dirty jasper
dug up and tossed back
I was left
with lesser understanding,
along with common rocks
They are the shades
of Vietnam, of forgotten women,
small farmers, and artists
no one wants to remember
just eat the soggy noodles
and relish in worldly
culture
no one ever sees
the seas of rice
and never growth
before history runs circles
around itself
Samuel Barber once wrote
Adagio for Strings
I wasn't born then
or part of a history luckier
children will read
and forget
quicker
in an overstimulated
atmosphere
too many visuals,
colors, excitements
that aren't careful or close
enough to take
my breath away
slighter than an eagle
plunging in courtship freefall
I fell when I threw
a banana on a hill
and rebroke
my broken hand
to add injury
to insult
lucky I am right-
handed, calloused-
footed (on the
pinkies) and stubborn
I wish I experienced you
once in a life
of Italian leather
and Indian colors
This life resounds
with lesser thrills
and falls
grey, and pale,
and trying
Today, a student of mine
saw an owl
eye-to -eye
(dusty feathers
and a beady eye)
I thought he was part
of the moldy tree,
muddied colors,
until he moved
ten feet away
in a tangled wood
of jumbled meaning
and a gnarl of thickets
That I could slap
Hemingway
with a bouquet
of fuchsia and tangerine
and introduce him
to talent and more masculine
womanhood
let me join in connection
there is something here
the "wrinkle in time"
was ironed and meaning
bled through
in turquoise
my son cuddles me
quietly, with bare feet
and reminds me of love
when the barred owl
stops hooting my name
at 2am
the luckier ones flew away
to greater Africa
and elephants
unparalleled
stomp objectively
in smokey quartz
God smiles
sometimes
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