Quiz Tomorrow

I wake to the dark

drum roll of October rain,

a street lined with vacanthomes.

White wicker, gas grills

wait out the season instorage.

Kids gather at the cornerlooking

like a herd of littlehumpbacks, until

a yellow bus swallows themwhole.

On the road to school, asingle red

tree redeems the dirty linenskyline.

Blackbirds, heads moving up

and down like typewriterkeys,

lift their tail feathers,making

random checks across a lawn.

A student trudges in damp anddrowsy.

Today’s lesson? On the board:

Listen to the rain.

Pay attention to birds.

So Good

I was so famished,

I could have eaten youwhole—

gulped you down in mouthfuls

without chewing,

bits and dribble

for my napkin to catch.

But instead

you fed me slowly

from a child’s spoon,

the stuff of which I firstdevoured,

then started swirling around

my mouth and tongue,

finally swallowing

not knowing

when the next

agonizing morsel

would arrive.

Unlikely Valentine

I want to thank whoever sent

the eleven moths that layflat

against my window pane

this November evening.

Their delicate wings areshaped

like hearts, edged in a softbrown fringe.

Rain’s turned to sleet, and Iam afraid

they will not live the night,but now

 they are lovely, unexpected, and so

 still, (not a single flutter from them.)

watch leaves fly at the mercy

                        ofthe wind 

spin      settle           

                             until the next flurry

flutter turns to crackle

                          as       they     scoot      

consider this leaf       the colorof merlot

smooth as tanned hide        aframework of veins

an object magnified revealsits divine structure

the tip of my finger is anintricate maze

a sprig of dusty miller now avelvet antler

a maple seed becomes adragonfly wing

to what have I been blind?

                        look

  and whatever tongue         called this world

            toattention—

put your ear to its lips

The Things We Hold On To

When my father got sober(seriously this time) he paced

            fromthe front door to the back, staring past the screen

as if the answer were in theleaf pile next to the apple tree.

            Hedid not talk for days.

Now he hides in the lining ofmy dreams,

            watchingto see what I will write.

I will write about his whitelinen bureau scarf, his daily change,

            histeeth swimming in a glass.

There was a time when I couldmake myself invisible

            inthe narrow space between wall and stove.

There is too much chatterabove my shoulders.

            Starsand stars tonight, confetti thrown into the ether.

A fragment of Jack’s skullclenched in Jackie’s hand.

            Oh,the things we hold on to.

Six brown pears in a blackbowl.

            Sixteenswans on Long Pond.