Border crossing

We're in a time of borders crossed

or about to be crossed.

The yard is past the tipping point--

there's no recovering from forsythia--

but as yet we only sometimes think

about telephone calls.

He's sleeping more.

Meanwhile, her gown is hanging on the bathroom door

to get the wrinkles out,

and tomorrow she'll walk across the stage.

Reading life always brings us to the turning of its pages.

Tic

Let this hand repose.

This breakfast placemat can be its bed,

not a tapping ground:

no Morse code spelling out the burden of today.

Hand, you’ve telegraphed all this before;

there’s no news in what you’d say.

It’s my only job,

this letting go so I don't fall,

and I won’t send any other message home.

Winter takes it seriously, his job.

He charges just for showing up,

but he really would like to help you.

Unfortunately, he tells you,

he can’t fix it now;

he’ll have to order the part,

and it might not even get here

till spring.

December 24 2021

Hen came to the deck door,

softly asking;

what, we didn’t know.

We were agog:

we haven’t had a chicken here in years.

But no, you can’t come in;

go back to your lady friends.

She jumped through the railings

onto the crazy lawn,

and wobbled to the big rhododendron

at the bottom of the yard.

Next morning we had to entice her

through the open gate,

so she could run off the wrong way

into the woods.

Google confirms

that my name is a question,

which pleases me.

When I tell you I am Michael,

the proper response is,

“No one.”