THE RED SLIDE
My daughter is not waiting,
her blonde hair changing colour
In the sun’s golden hour.
She is here, but her
body is not rushed
as she reaches for the rails
of the ladder – she tips
her body forward, heads
into the climb.
She turns at the top
of the red slide – accepts
the certain gift of gravity
as nothing to do
with the grave, but
with the joy of falling
she bursts through the sand
scattering the universe
with a wave of her hand
TABLE FOR TWO
I sit down with pain.
It eats me.
IF YOU CAME OVER
For a sleepover, I would cry in your arms
for hours until my body says stop
breathe you in gently, the crook
of your neck, back of your knee, inside
your elbow and back to your neck how easily
sensory and sentient, we could lie
face to face and breathe, I would
breathe you in so deep while you sleep
away the blue moon, I would brush a hair away
from your face, cast a spell to keep you safe.
ALWAYS BREATHE
Without moving a muscle you can think yourself breathing
Through a ventilator, what a turn this has taken, breathing in water
Swaddled in scuba gear moving through my favourite element
Water is now against me, my lungs rasping a pit of air
Hart Crane and Jack London figured their own drowning
Would leave the world one less fuck-up, one less drunk
While they learned the secret of the light
Fading as they slid into the black shroud
Roethke, gone for a swim, his flailing tongue
Bellows, wait, there must be some mistake.
His heart drains. His corpulent flesh bathed in sun,
rises, his shadow at the bottom of the pool.
Breathe through this, always breathe, she signals,
Freeing me from the wreckage,
Sharing her respirator
In the nick of time.
I MISS MY FLYING DREAMS
my flying dreams disappeared the day
my flat foot was amputated. I'm pretty
sure my new comfort with making
jokes replaced my left leg. My soaring
dreams were glorious open field
affairs, soft as non-resistance, flying
forth me fumbling with where
to put my arms and hands.
Now they just wave in the dark
of our bedroom, my shoulders do
rattle, but I will breathe baby
another 24 years we figure,
you with Just MS and me
with a plethora of ailments
for each rib my cervical spine
looking for an ecumenical collar
I want I want to hold up
my head. I can see you
now in your powered chair,
straight ahead, oh, let us
settle on the deck, listen
to the wind tell each other
our dreams as we look
up to the hills, unafraid.