I want another day to walk on the earth
another day to dream big dreams
to believe life can be whatever I ask for
to think I will live forever
I want another day
to pet the cats
change a flat tire
get impatient with my lover
burn the cookies
another day to complain how hard it is to live
a good life
__________
Moon slides down the sky
as if drunk against the wall
knees giving way
blink and she has slipped
below the wires
one by one
the treetops
the rooftops
this is the speed
of our spinning earth
__________
Billions of snowflakes
rush to earth, giddy to start
life in this new world.
__________
Feb 24, 2010
The changes that can take place between the first and final versions of a poem astound me. Sometimes in my poetry journals I am lucky to find both preserved. Here are two approaches from 2010 to a snow-filled morning: haiku, version 2; and the original poem, version 1. It was my year of writing daily haiku, so I condensed the long version into the short one.
Snow Globe (2)
Before dawn, snow falls.
Light lifts, drifts, infuses this
creamy, cradled bowl.
__________
Snow Globe (1)
Before dawn, the snow comes down.
The shed, the hydro wire, the metal
swing chair without its cushions–
all wear the same homage to sky.
Thick as cream, clouds fill the bowl
above us and the flakes tumble
til we are only shapes and shades of clouds.
In our bowl there is no sun
there is no moon
the streetlamps have no power.
We are lit by reflected glory,
a steady glow of grey and ochre
rising from the ground, falling from the sky,
assimilating every atom in our snow globe.
__________
Feb. 23, 2010
There’s the polished moon again
hanging in its velvet sky,
and the stars
in party clothes–
every sunset’s a new occasion
to haul out the jewels.
The night’s a rich affair
invitation only
and I linger on the sidewalk
like a match girl skirting
the houses of the wealthy
with their bright lights, laughter,
and clinking crystal–
Hoping someone’s gaze will turn,
spot the princess beneath my rags
and pull me in to their magical soirée.
_______________________
The worms throw themselves
across rain’s asphalt altar
and awake
when the ecstasy ends
to find their god has gone
and sacrificed them to the sun.
__________________________
Deep fog hushes all
distant sounds: and we expand
to fill our small world.
_________________
