Three Poems
I Knew By The Shapes Of The Trees
I knew by the shapes of the trees
we were almost home.
I wasn't sleeping.
We had reached the spot
where the trees changed and I heard them say
I was sleeping.
Flying and falling were my only dreams then
and they just repeated
but in different ways.
One day it would all make sense.
I stayed quiet and waited.
Sometimes I lied.
I kept watching those trees.
We were back on our street again. For awhile
at least, I would keep on pretending;
I would let myself
be carried inside.
A Pack Of Awkward Wolves
The forest is cool and green
with springtime, but I can't
enjoy it. A pack of awkward wolves
is chasing me. They want to eat
me, I am certain, but are
nervous. Other forest creatures
are watching. What if I
should get away? Their name
would be mud in this forest.
Mud. It is not for wolves to be
humiliated by squirrels, mocked
by rabbits, belittled
by sparrows. These are wolves.
Are their teeth less sharp
than they once were? Their
howls less far-reaching?
Self-awareness has ruined them.
Still, they are wolves.
If they could only assert themselves
I'd be finished
in no time.
Night Of The Objects
The house is dark
and my objects are shouting
at me. I wake in the night
and they're shouting
at me! The toaster:
"You put bread in me!"
The forks:
"We spear your food!"
The television:
"You watch me!"
I wander from
room to room until
the shouting stops.
Eying an umbrella,
green and silent,
I could not tell you
what it is for.