If I had made this bed alone
There would be no scent of baby powder and spice.
There would be no looking both ways.
I would not have learned to roll the dice…twice.
If I had made this house, cedar and stain, log cabin frame, without its dame…I would still be dwelling in discord’s refrain.
In the morning, between the static and the reprieve, when it is easy to not believe…I ponder such vacant thoughts.
After all you have made me a vagabond to your ways.
Through routine I am grounded in the games we play.
Had I made this bed alone
pillows, solitary and too crisp.
I would have never fancied your kiss.
In my undergrowth, I confide…
first time I wrote about…love, upon a wall…
I settled down with fear.
First time I offered up sheaths of fallen leaf…
a vain pulse…filled the reeds.
These incantations left my heart out in the garden.
And, only moments with romantic blossoms… magical, embedded their seed.
In orbit, she is motherly, touched by a bit of supremacy.
No matter how many times I am seated…
in her presence I am still.
And, I am bowed down…at her feet.
She wears a tone that covets my needs.
Adorning a preface to a story.
In the open air, a deceiver.
Maternal winds distort, stutter…
still the memory follows me.
Soon, so soon, I will be made worthy to take a seat at the table.
Traversing untamed brooks.
‘Who am I to discover a Mother’s Mother that could be.
In the vast loneliness of self preservation…had I once performed very bad things?
Where was I when first mother took my mind?
Where had I gone when the nurturer offered time?
Wounds of fire and rubbish replaced by winds for sailing, light to guide me home.
A luminous aura left behind…leaving a manner in which to dine.
A stranger came to the door at eve,
And he spoke the bridegroom fair.
He bore a green-white stick in his hand,
And, for all burden, care.
He asked with the eyes more than the lips
For a shelter for the night,
And he turned and looked at the road afar
Without a window light.
The bridegroom came forth into the porch
With ‘Let us look at the sky,
And question what of the night to be,
Stranger, you and I.’
The woodbine leaves littered the yard,
The woodbine berries were blue,
Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind;
‘Stranger, I wish I knew.’
Within, the bride in the dusk alone
Bent over the open fire,
Her face rose-red with the glowing coal
And the thought of the heart’s desire.
The bridegroom looked at the weary road,
Yet saw but her within,
And wished her heart in a case of gold
And pinned with a silver pin.
The bridegroom thought it little to give
A dole of bread, a purse,
A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God,
Or for the rich a curse;
But whether or not a man was asked
To mar the love of two
By harboring woe in the bridal house,
The bridegroom wished he knew.
“Hey, mama, it’s me!”
Said, “you better wait child!
Said, “you’ve been a long time running!”
“Hey, mama, answer me!”
“Baby boy, you better sit down…Can’t listen when the sun’s out! My only son this will be so hard to hear.”
“C’mon mama, what do you mean?”
I know you’ve been knocked down.
I know it ain’t been easy.
Nothing ever good really is.
Why you gotta wait so long?
But she said son,
“Let me reason with you. You think you carry such a weight?
I know I never beat you boy. Better start acting like this here’s…a race.”
“You ain’t gone far enough to say, at least I tried.
You ain’t worked hard enough to say, well I’ve done mine.
You ain’t run far enough to say, my legs have failed.
You ain’t worked hard enough. You ain’t run far enough to say…’it ain’t gonna get any better.”
“You picked a bad time
You picked a bad time to listen to me!”