snowbirds go south seeking summer
(timing is everything)
first mention of snow
when windchill dethrones dew point,
they are out of here
seeking heat like missiles
hot, steamy night
standing on my upstairs deck,
cotton nightgown tousled by warm wind,
I see the back door below
and all the people who have entered
this house, my refuge, my kingdom
Guacamole
Halcyon
Jack of Spades
and Jelly Bean
Flemish Master
Polish Prince
Fountain Glass
and Dancing Queen
To you, Manhattan:
city of skyscrapers,
melting-pot borough
to the privileged and penniless,
the doormen and pigeons
to the East River,
High Line, the Hudson
and bridges
Tower of papers to read,
The New York Times
lying in state since Sunday
and then the bills
cry out to be paid;
a pile of files moan
put us away in alpha order
which I will
after I unload the dishes,
set up my morning coffee
and rinse the cat’s dish.
Searching for meaning
like a hunter flushes grouse,
my psyche’s sonar
scans history:
what hard-fought battle
left shards of shrapnel
inside my head?
on a Saturday, he sent a text
do you need anything?
he had stopped to pick up
medicine, Life Savers
and I answered no, thanks
I love you
no pain
please, if it can be avoided
any anodyne will do
if agony has set in
when the end is in sight
We know the weight of atoms,
of the planet Jupiter;
the size of the Milky Way
of Walden Pond, a newborn baby, an olive.
Audience of ancestors
beyond the grave
watch from celestial bleachers,
not seated in rows
but spread out like stars, scattered
among flowers, gravel and dust.
Overhead, a fake sky as blue as can be,
made of fiberglass, four large ceiling tiles
as though it will help us here in the waiting room.
Maybe without it things would be worse,
I don’t know.
It would be an error
to call this endeavor
spring cleaning.
Drawer after drawer,
closets, cupboards, shelves
filled with history,
While they eat, I walk.
Twilight outside while dining rooms fill:
food, fathers, friends,
children, mothers, couples,
sneaky dogs and cats.
T-shirted angels
almost cherubs
they’re so young:
last spring they donned royal blue,
today, gunmetal gray.
The most optimistic two dots
one stacked atop the other
like an old-fashioned traffic light.
Something is coming:
a possibility or a choice.