I mourn
The mornings gone,
Waking to the cold,
Bare feet on hardwood,
Firing the furnace,
The smell of strong coffee,
Two cups placed,
Climbing back into warmth
Beneath the Pendletons.

I mourn
The mornings gone,
Lazy hours abed
For a family of four,
In winter coats
Jake, Shady
Upon our lap and leg.

I mourn
The mornings gone.
I would read her
Fascinating finds in
Scientific American,
Smithsonian.
She would pretend
To listen.
In return I would
Refill her cup.

I mourn
The mornings gone.
Is not love
Two cats, a man
A woman,
Content together as
One,
Content to hold
The day at bay,
Content to just be.

Four years past
I paid a visit on death

For days
I knew not where
The when
I knew the why
She would disappear

A fifth I drank
A few pills
Well a lot

Comatose she found me
911
Hell followed

Told a friend…finally
You were so lucky!
God’s work!
Into chill silence I fell
Stared, finally
“Yeah he’s one cruel
*******”

There are worlds upon worlds.

We came here under contract
To forget.
Yet does your heart not hold
A whisper of home?
Do you not feel a longing
For return?

We endure this dark way station,
Where pains and sorrows
Multiply.

We think we learn of love
In all its many forms,
Yet we drink a weak brew,
The taste of real Love
Forgotten.

Here we turn around,
To retrace our footsteps
Through the universe of Spirit,
That ocean of Love.

With joy we join our caravan
Of forgotten friends and lovers,
Our tribe of gypsy souls.

We bang our drum
And sing of our return.
Again we travel
Joyful,
Begin that endless journey,
Shall navigate the
Timeless Realms,

Our compass ever pointing
The way to
The One.

We may linger
Here and there,
There are worlds of such beauty.

But Creator
Ever calls to us,
Come closer to my Light.
We grow ever lighter,
Shine ever brighter
As we answer the call.

Our destiny a homecoming,
Now purely of Light,
Beings of Spirit,
Welcomed by angels,
We join their chorus

Ever rejoicing
In orbit of
The One.

UNCLE MAR

While both my mother’s parents
Lived yet,
Those years of my
Growing pains
Just below the sternum,
In that tiny house off D
All those fallen Catholics
Laughed and drank away
Each eve of Christmas.
Bored and bewildered
We children wandered squeezing
‘Tween sweating raucous bodies,
Ducked ‘neath upraised glass
Of spirit plenty,
But what of Saint Nick’s magic?

Reeking stained of gin
And ***** bathroom breath,
Uncle Mar joined our wander,
Enjoined all,
Entreating
Where are my teeth?
Who has seen my teeth?
Unaware he had flushed them
Out to sea.

Later,
Just one month shy
Of two decades later,
Shrew wife Billie found Mar’s teeth
Out in the barn
Of all places,
Carefully laid aside,
More easily
To fit both barrels.

One of them
Could not,
Would not  
Tolerate his second conviction.

Do you see this community of souls
Clad in tattered rags of light?

This is my family.
Some of us are broken.
Some of us are healing.
We are all damaged.
But unlike those in the outside world
Who judge us,
Even spouses and siblings,
Teachers and preachers,
Each with a tongue
Like a judge’s gavel,
We never judge one another.
We each give kindness.
We each give compassion.
We hold out a hand.
We love.
We laugh.

Do you see this community of souls?
This is my family.

I was seven
That day we waded the south fork
Of the rushing Stillaguamish,
Cousin Mel and I,
Each a hand tightly grasped in
Father’s.

We had pitched camp
Amongst the crumbling foundations,
The sinking brick paths,
Near the still standing chimney
Of Big Four Lodge,
Once playground of the wealthy,
Once only reached by train.

We climbed the dusty, steep,
Old, old trail.
Together we stood reviving
In the chill breeze
Of the cave,
The tons of ice overhead
Melting drop by drop
To fall on heads and shoulders.







Blinking, back in sunlight,
We watched reflections shimmer
On a small pool.
Father having dared,
Clothes shed,
We jumped into that mirror
Of heart stopping
Melted ice field,
Screaming, scrambled out.

We ate Mac and cheese
Hot off the white gas stove
That eve,
Hot dogs charred in our fire.

As dusk fell to darkness
Far from city lights,
We lined in shared anticipation.
Chins and eyes skyward,
Father gripping elk hunting field glasses,
Our vision darted
Horizon to horizon,
Searching, searching
A thousand and one stars.

Look, look!
A hand shot up, pointing.
We shared the nation’s fervor, fever
To spot a speeding satellite,
For every night held that dawn
Of the Soviet/U.S. space race.

We kids
Slept in the open,
My parents
In the big green canvas tent.
‘Round midnight
Mother woke us
With a wild yell,
A big, fat bullfrog
On her feet,
Its eyes found with
Flashlight.

Twice told
I was to die
By violent hand of races
Not my own,
I ran from one,
Laughed at the other.

The Makah nation
Squeezed upon a dry reservation
Saw blood spill
And bone break of
Drunken mishap and malice.

Chill was my blood
Of random midnight calls
And the deep drunk whisper
I will **** you,
A rant
I will **** you,
I knew true one day,
One day.
And so I fled.

Two extra decades in my bones,
Out the door of the V.I. tavern
Lookout on the world.
Swerves young black
Sideways cross the crosswalk
Slams me silly.
I turn and step and push
Him into a snarled threat:
I’ll get my gun and **** you.
I spit laughter in his face.