Wednesday, December 30, 2009

For Two Newborns


Ring a thousand bells; send out
the paper cranes across each valley,
and let the morning shout.
Rouse the neighbors; light
the signal fires to spread
the news and pull with coffee
every laggard from his bed.
Turn on the television early,
give the anchors all new leads;
set the dogs to barking,
wake the birds up in their trees.
Send out to the music shop
for their very largest drum
and beat a proud tattoo to tell
the world that they have come.

In honor of Rose and Lina

December 30 2009

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Ave, Maria


Ave, Maria.
Again you find me here;
again I greet you
with the selfsame wonder
in my heart. Again I feel
how gladly I
my small pretensions give away
to earn your smile. Again
I ask you what you made
of all those things you kept
and pondered in your heart,
and ask you to remember me,
and all the mothers like you
who have borne a sweet beginning
to the world.

December 24 2009

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

For a Dog Who Is Still Here


The north wind drives him back upon his track
to visit every scent he missed before.
The snow is deep, the ice is black,
and we are many paces from our door,
and I would rather take a different tack
than linger longer here beside the shore.
But he is old, and soon may leave the pack,
so I will stay with him and wait a little more.

January 7 2010

I Remember When We Came Here


I remember when we came here
it was the morning of a spring.
Then there were both snow
and the promise of new flowers
in the scent of damp earth warmed
by an optimistic sun.

They took the birdbath with them,
as I might have known,
and the strawberries forecast
by the agent were not there.
But certain plants did grow
that first time summer came
to see us in our yard,
and every step across the grass
was light with opportunity.

In this opposing season when
the dark is always near,
each patch uncovered by the sun
is radiant with yearning,
and these heady exhalations
quicken welcome memory:
Look, how where the dawn you found
is where you soon may be.

January 21 2010

Sunday, December 20, 2009

The Winter Bear


The winter bear reached out one paw
past autumn's end and dealt
a single blow,
cuffing us back to our den.

We cubs were not dismayed
but the lesson was enforced:
Children, you are excited by
this change, this coming joy;
be calm. Your rampant play
will end in tears and enmity.

But like the young we are,
we rashly dared the snow,
in careless gambols threatening
each other and upsetting,
forgetting till we felt the paw
of the winter bear again.

December 21 2009

Monday, December 14, 2009

On a Christmas Pageant Day


They are eating clementines and practicing
riotous, illogical skips; I am in the yard,
cleaning up and noticing
how parenthood is given without regard
to who you are. Later, an angel

skips through the living room
on her way to church. There, in the
awkward dark, surrounded by cameras
and attentive close relations,
I see a heavenly host, none more than
four feet high and each unsure how to
wave her alleluia

while shepherds watch their parents, and behind,
the woman comforting her baby Jesus
is suddenly motherhood personified

and over all is felt perhaps by some at last
the possibility
of a kind and infant king.

December 14 2009

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

For a Dog Who Has Gone


I had no time to be sad
when she first told me,
but believe me now,
though my emotion is no doubt
entangled with my web
of work and shoulds and wants,
I would gladly pull your ears
and make your eyes disappear
into that chocolate fur,
and throw practically any ball
you wanted me to, if you
would only come sniffing to the door
in search of him, whom I cannot
and would not
tell that you are gone.

December 2 2009