Do you, little child,
Fear your blank slate when nothing’s inspired, but you see a flag
Which paints itself on the face of
Someone else’s moon?

And do you, little child,
Know the pain of a thousand plain feathers pulling up and further
With nothing but hollow bones and
Grey sinew beneath?

And do you, little child,
Realise that the anguish of loss which comes with every edited word
Is bygones is bygones is bygones
Gone by?

And do you, little child,
Understand that a shoelace which appears at first to be two strings is actually
One road to the end overlapping again
And again?

And can you, little child,
Fear more than the dark day’s end, or the eight-leggedness of tarantulas,
And worry instead for the loss of your
Creativity?

Before the fall rains come,
Let’s have one more picnic,
Now that the leaves are turning color
And the grass is still green in places.
   – by Charles Simic


A hot day brings the summer alcohol
Out of hiding.
Surrounded,
Each ice cube vanishes into my glass,
Like children running from the year’s last
class,
Mingling with the ***.
I relish laying
My hand on your naked chest
In the August sun,
Before the fall rains come.

Layered with a glaze of sweat
Neither yours nor mine but both,
My eyelids slide like honey
Over my quiet eyes,
Relaxing my thighs,
Daydreaming of earlier, when
You said to me
In the same tone as one with
Only a couple pages left in his comic,
“Let’s have one more picnic.”

Tomorrow, I’ll pack a basket
With some entertaining food:
Whipped cream, chocolate strawberries.
Under your tongue they’ll disappear
From here, here, and here.
(It’s duller
Without them.)
I’ll be excited looking around at
The land in a riot of multicolour,
Now that the leaves are turning colour.

But I’ll realize it isn’t you
Specifically;
Just that you were there, and I was there.
And we’ll realize we’re in love, however,
You or I could be whoever.
Gazing at each other, still with good graces
And moderate tolerance we’ll think,
“The sky is partially blue,
There are half-smiles on our faces,
And the grass is still green in places.”

I caressed your face in a picture of you
with fingertips wanting to know
how the light fills your eyes.  
Immediately my fascination turned
into a rushing drive
held perfectly in the middle
of where your heart touches the warmth
of all my memories.

These thoughts alone gather
to capture the moon,
can you not see me wrapped
in continuous seasons
when I walk under the same sky
above where you sit?
My mind wanders and I close my eyes,
wishing you were here,
my fingertips find your picture,
caress your lips.

Human Love,
When you come to eat the rations of my heart,
remember, then, that starving is an art;
that to consume would be to ****--a crime;
that to exhume this cherry seed of mine
will drain me of a blood as thin as grape juice;
that in time, I will mourn my stolen-***** fruit.
-Ocean

            ------

Ocean,
You speak unto your seedling self, child.
You are weak--we are weak.  No mild
measure of halfway self-control can live
in mental habitat which exists to give
and only to give.  Your fluids will seep
and you'll be unable even to weep.
-Earth
            ---
Obtuse Earth,
Stop your assaulting me with these words.
Stop your quiet screaming, this dirge
which comes under guise of gentility--
insufferably loud, however creatively.
I never addressed you, ugly whisperer.
I never addressed you, nuissance, stranger.
-Ocean
            ---
Stubborn Ocean,
Do not be foolish!  Listen, girl.
Spurn him now with resolve; lest how
can dignity you preserve in any small
amount?  He doesn't love you at all.
And knowing that, you gave me address:
indeed, you have addressed yourself.
-Earth

            ------

Love,
Were that I could say it's so,
I would not give this room to grow.
But oh, if I do hold it back
then infinitely I should retract
into myself.  So speak or speak not,
but if so, speak now, for I am distraught.
-Ocean

Tea time
And I sit alone
At the table
Hearing cicadas drone
Seeing roses climb the gable
Steam coming from my small mug burns
And without you here, I am now able
To focus on much bigger concerns
Like what color to paint the picket fence
Or where to place this quaint birdhouse
Or what to name the new little field mouse
That scurries outside where the magnolias bloom
right next to the headstone where the leaves are strewn

Beep
Hey,it's me.
There's a few things
I just thought you should know,
If you still cared.
I took the job,
We're moving in a few weeks.
I wasn't sure if you would want them,
The pictures,
So I packed them
In the box
With the bear
From that carnival
An eternity ago.
Also,
It was a boy.
He has your smile
He sleeps like you too.
That was all I had to say, really.
So I guess I-
I'll see you
Soon.
Bye.

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