cucina
The wool cap on the stool
Counting teardrops on the wall
Vultures encircle stained plaster
In for the re-kill, the rehash
Of moments when everything went
Wrong, and liquidized
Feelings met the confinements
Of mother’s kitchen.
Take me back to the linoleum anyway,
Take me back to the tomato sauce
And the toaster oven
And the wailings
Of
The tea kettle.
That I may wear the wool cap again
And help it
Count my teardrops on the
Wall
Groundhog Day
February air
Stings
Like
A cicada
Leaves
Red marks on
Sorry flesh
Buzz of winter
In full
Spring
I've also been writing haiku lately. I love them. It's better than people throwing brownies.
An ornament hangs.
Perfunctory; loose on a
Striking evergreen
Thick rims and a gleam
Hazel almonds briefly blind
An epiphany
Some color my world
In neon and azuline
As I prefer gray
Scoffing at the tree
We dubbed it too willowish
And it gave us fruit
Paper clips must be
Sick of all the warping. I
Dislike those “S”s
Three gentle words, hushed
With the scolding of wind: failed
Communication
When I saw the brush
Ablaze, I waited for God
Or the firemen
Laissez-faire Sundays
Warm Toyota afternoons
Tunes from the Songbook
In spite of the laughs
I dared to think up a place
Of compromised wax
The finger points to
Me and my comrades, we march
On unscathed; shrill cries
Photographs, scraps of
History, yesteryear’s news
And the fire blooms
Tigress carries the
Load of her children on her
Once-glorious back
N_q_t
