plays, films, stories, blog
in every place that holds a comb
a toothbrush
a roll of tape
or even grapes newly washed
a person takes a stand
hears the sounds of the night
a bird way out there
calls another
over there
way over there
lets me hear
the conversation
one of them shouts the steady talk
the other answers
a quick chirp
just enough to validate
both together tell me
that if I empty out
what’s inside
all the earthy material
in my gut
their calls can heal anything
fractions blow my mind
like one half of a blow
or two thirds of a mind
make how many hearts?
who knows
who cares
after all
it’s just division
taking a thing
and slicing it into parts
so that each new thing
is a new thing
and the whole thing
no longer exists
isn’t this why the heart
is part of the mind
is part of the whole
nothing to do with blood
or skin or tissue but
something else that
reaches out and gets real
only in the eye
of another
A student gave me a letter.
She said she did not write it,
but she did.
It said others
wrote things
she wrote
but got read
said things
she said
but got heard
hungered for things
she wanted
but got fed
ran the way
she ran
but scored
walked the way
she walked
but attracted glances
learned the things
she learned
but won.
But then
her letter taught me,
and theirs did not.
it’s so important that we make sense of things
a toy we pulled from a box at four
a bike we rode at ten
a girl at twenty
a suitcase
because
no matter
what was real
or what we think was real
it’s the making sense of things
the story about the toy and bike and girl
that lets us pack another suitcase, take another trip
sometimes pain gets delivered
like the morning newspaper
thrown on the driveway
chilled by pre-dawn
drops of night
it waits
morning walkers see it
they don’t care
those who sleep
don’t know it’s there
birds sing
they ignore it
cars pass
they miss it
it just waits
until suddenly
daring to reach that far
a hand
with raw nerve stretched
exposed to cold
strains to lift it
if you could hear what I hear
the breathing and warm yellow
the light and heat and mix of air
the soft sound between the breaths
then I could hear what you hear
the lying close and touch of night
the falling whistle of the log
the light and rumble and old coat of life
and if you could hear all this and me
then we could measure space
between these breaths
and make a half a whole and all we hear