New Autumn

                                                               Willa  #437




Little Daughter and I
laughdancing 
a spin kick jump dance. 

Sparks of sweatjoy flying 
everywhere after a long 
day of workschool.
















































































.

it is spring

full moon rising at dusk.

the old cardinal 

lands on a branch

with buds like tiny clocks

pushing everything forward.

a congregation of lightening 

is growing in the west.

today in the garden

my daughter held worms for the first time

like a giant 

fumbling with curiosity 

while wrestling with the instruction 

to be gentle.

the feeling 

of compassion.

it is spring.

rumble rumble.

my prairie chest

is storming across the roll

is rolling across the stumble

is roaring about the reeds

is snoring around humble

Rumble Rumble.

.

The Wide World

This sagging house 

wraps her hundred year 

old arms around me.

The house that no one wanted 

on the north side. 

The first family she held 

lived here in the darkness 

of the war to end all wars.

A world war.

I am working for my daughter

and for everyone who can still

look deep into my eyes

and hold my hand

and for everyone who can’t.

In the great chain of humanity

perhaps all we have to do to rise

is to look at our deep flaws

and reach out our hand. 

We thought we would have one kind of time.

It turns out that isn’t the case.

So like those chess players in the park

the timer has just been slapped

on our lives.

I know it's serious. 

That many will be lost.

Even so

amidst all the work

we cannot forget 

to consult the sun

the water and birds

those clouds

that women singing to herself

in the street

or our faith will crumble

under this great wall of fear

that is moving across the land

and, even with death,

there's so much more than that.

.

Cities

I remember the big one.

It was stacked
so high with
what needed
to be ignored
in order to survive
that the sky
would often
disappear for days
in the rush.

Far out 
on the plains
this little city
still feels
the ancient
body beneath
its streets.
There are
oneiric days
when the sky
is a deity
silent and slow
and I can breathe.

.