Little Miss Independent
is careening (it’s the stage between walking and running)
around the library.
She’s heading for the door,
her eyes are gleaming,
and it’s a little scary.
Some Days It’s Not
I’m on a roll.
Today’s my day,
and nothing’s getting
in my way.
I’m gaining speed,
I’m gaining ground,
and wondering why
somedays I’m down.
On days that it’s easy
to act on my thoughts
it’s hard to remember
why some days it’s not.
Cloud-Glasses
The strange yellow glow
of this pressure system (low)
reminds me of the cloud-glasses
that we used to have
to wear when it was grey
to make it seem a sunny day
but it just seemed cloudy-yellow
like today.
Past
A month at twenty-five
is like a week at seventeen
is like a day at six or seven
if you know what I mean.
And I guess that when I’m older
even years will seem as fast
as each shrinks in proportion
to my quantity of past.
Deep Pockets
I have a friend with deep pockets
full of truth and grace…
pockets so deep in pants so tall,
and sometimes it’s hard to see His face.
The Slow Process of Making Friends
The slow process of making friends
with people who swim in front of me like fish behind glass
and who would probably not enjoy coming to this side to sit next to me on the couch
and who, like me, would probably find it hard to breath sometimes,
is very slow.
No One Needs Poetry
No one needs poetry.
They need food
and shelter,
hope, peace and love.
But since we don’t all have
all these things
we need poetry.
But if we all had
food, shelter, hope, peace and love,
then we would not need poetry.
But then we would want it
all the more.