The hub,
the center of a wheel,
is there to hold the wheel together,
each spoke spinning and moving
while the hub stays and stays.
Is it the hub that turns the wheel
or the wheel that turns the hub?
Either way, the hub doesn’t get much outside contact,
and she has to continually remind herself
that everything does not revolve around herself.
The Red Hen
The red hen is the loudest.
She bosses the others around.
The red hen wants to be
the loudest chicken kept in town.
The red hen wants to be a rooster,
crowing atop the coop.
The red hen won’t be satisfied.
The red hen will be soup.
Get Well
I’ll bring you water, herbal tea,
and orange juice to drink.
I’ll tell you “Drink it all,
you are thirstier than you think.”
And if you don’t drink it all,
I’ll be able to tell.
But most of all, I just want
you to please get well.
Just Things
When the floor is clear and I can walk,
my head is clear to think and talk.
When my computer runs out of space
I feel so full behind my face.
When the snow begins to melt,
I feel alive as I’ve ever felt.
I feel like I’ll explode or sing
depending on these things– just things!
Seven Every Week
I may not write a poem each day,
but seven every week.
Some people hardly say a word,
but they make up for it when they speak.
I hope I too have something to say,
some thoughtful point to make,
something that makes you think, something
that’s worth the time it takes.
Nada, Pero Todo
La manera que la sangre goteó, goteó, goteó
no tuvo nada, pero todo, que ver
con el latido de su corazón.
El agua del grifo hace lo mismo.
Y la manera que fluyó en un hilo por su piel
no tuvo nada, pero todo, que ver
con su color.
El agua se vería igual.
The way the blood dripped, dripped, dripped
had nothing, but everything, to do
with his heartbeat.
Water drips the same way out of a faucet.
And the way it trickled down his skin
had nothing, but everything,
to do with its color.
Water would look the same.
She’s Playing
She’s playing on the floor by herself.
She just put the elephant in the bucket and she’s tapping it on the door.
She’s happy, I’m happy here writing.
But what if someday she doesn’t need me anymore?