my poems are like
the death I never had
the death I might have dreamed
when I approached
it ignored me
my poems are like
waking up
and learning
bit by bit
step by step
this body of mine
no longer flies
learning that the strange
strangely familiar situation
I was so engrossed in
no longer applies
my poems are like
the children I could not save
the innocence I could not keep
could not keep
from bubbling over
and over
and over
in endless cycles
which do not include
forgetting
or sleep
the death
I could not keep
the lives
I could not keep
my poems are like
the wonders I could not find
no matter how hard I tried
the wonders
shimmering quietly
out there
and
the wonderful wonders
deep inside
my poems are like
all the souls I once
owned
all the lives I have not yet
lived
my poems are like
all the memories I push aside
and all the memories
I never had
concerning people
who have never been kicked
and wrung
through the wringer
never had all of the juice
of their lives
squeezed out of them
my daughter used to say
“they don’t have a clue”
memories I had
and never had
like jumbled dreams
I can’t recall
my poems are like
someone else’s dreams
rumbling through
ragged memories
I could not bring inside
my poems are like
a warm embrace
I lost or never had
a cliff from which
I could not fall
all …
sputtering
spattering
into
and
out of me
my poems are like
death following me home
to sit awhile
and just talk
my poems are like
the friends I lost
and friends I’ve almost
forgotten
my poems are like
the fire
I could not put out
the wonders I could not keep
the death I never had
the innocence I could not save
simmering simmering
deep inside