Poetry Month

            April is National Poetry Month. Really. And you thought Congress was gridlocked!

            I know it may be difficult to pay attention to poetry with all the important political news buzzing around us, and all the important actions that we must take and important things we must say. But still – poetry can also bring us news.

       Marriage

You are in a foreign country

--smells of garlic, sweat, goats,

perfumes like rotting pears. Almond

eyes take your measure. Gutteral

babble, diphthongs, liquids,

the rise of pitches and eyebrows,

all too fast. Brown hands tug

at your coat

             when clear as sunlight

you hear her voice reach out from

the polyglot tangle to sing

you the cool cadences, familiar

surprises, the green music of your own

language, to pull you stunned, happy, home.

     Moving

Invited to Jim's this bright

Saturday, we men lift boxes,

pack the truck:  bed-frames,

the tv with a rat-cord

dragging, the oak table I want,

book-shelves with dust-lines,

a stuffed chair turned up-

side down.

           In this morning's

lack of women we exchange

stories of moving--marriages,

divorces, deaths of spouses,

money coming or going, kids

leaving for school, a great

buy near work, near a lake,

or just a change like air

after a long meeting.

                        We

smile across the couch, angle

out through a door. Our steps

adjust. We grab a cabinet,

haul it to the truck, pause

to shift our grips, heft

it up to a man who knows

where each thing goes.

     Silver Bullets

The Curse of the Werewolf made Phillip

afraid to sleep alone.

Even on living room tv

our Saturday afternoon yawning

his big brother yelling Sit down Phee

too much was too much.

                        I explained

and explained that the werewolves

were not real, that stories are stories

that blood is not blood, and that teeth

are not teeth only plastic like Jeff's,

and he agreed, yes, it made sense

but (sorry, Dad, still...) the moon shone

just outside.  Full is full.

                              The answer

must lie in the movie. I shrugged

and fetched his Defenders revolver

said to him knowing how true

was this truth that the gun was loaded

with his silver bullets especially

good against werewolves.

                          He slept

with his gun by his pillow. The moon

moved away from the house and by morning

had paled.  Keep the bullets for later.