Family Gravestones, 2012

I search for ancient paths
Deep rutted, hidden by catbriars and laurels
Washed by rain, trodden by my mother, invisible others,
Grandmothers and aunts carving tortuous trails
Dug deeper by custom and love,
Red veined tendrils
Under history’s tangled growth.
I follow their tears, the strings,
The scattered household debris
Of women’s work—cast iron pots,
Old *** blades, treadles, rusted with disuse,
String quilts and melted firewood.
You, Vera, Louisa, Catherine, Prudence, Elizabeth
And names now invisible,
I’m coming with my shears and blades,
My crosscut saws made strong by other seekers.
We snip, we cut, we tear at the weeds of illusion
That hide your deep and righteous trails.

A dark veil
Covers the light
Like a shadow of night
Light is darkness

Deep into the abyss
It drowns
Deep and deeper, Everyday
Every day
Frown of darkness

mirage of light
Light's hope
A false sense of hope
Unending struggle
Of light and darkness

A vacuum
Of intense cold
Taunts and torments
All that crosscut the abyss
It's light is true black.

Two guys pass each other on the street.
Hey, do I know you?
Could be, in a past life.
No, you look just like a Western actor.
Well, I act like a Westerner, but I’m currently studying a new role.
Week later. A guy passes a woman in a sports center.
Hey, aren’t you some famous tennis player? she said.
Well, the only ball I ever hit never came back.
Month later. A teenager passes a guy in a bar.
Hey, didn’t we have some beers together?
In the Crosscut Saw? In the Dying Buffalo?
Well, I remember sawing wood, and that buffalo died on me long ago.
I’ll give your regards to my brother.
Ah, get outta my face.
Two guys pass each other in a dream.
Hey, you’re my double.
Yeah, where’ve you been hanging out?