Friday, April 28, 2006

Poem, Again 

Something raw, half-drafted in indellible ink on an old envelope against the steering wheel while driving to and from work today. Because the blog entry I wrote earlier wasn't for public consumption. And because it's time, and true.

I've taken mornings to the concrete stoop
again, after so many changes put an end to it:
a need for sleep, and to disconnect the smoker's habits
from the newness of nonsmoking; the end of winter.

New job, new home, new patterns:
four years ago I could smoke in the house
where it was warm and childless,
Three years ago we lived in a stoopless attic;

The suburban proximity that disallowed
bathrobes on the porch, and the homeless summer -
the world conspired to keep me inside
until I was ready, and public, and already moving.

But flowers bloom in Spring and so do I.
The earth is warm and the road is behind the trees.
And here I am in my bathrobe way too early,
for no other reason than to watch the sun rise,

yesterday's coffee, reheated by my side;
admire new lawn, a hundred inherited daffodills
the way the tallest trees bud in yellows
and deep redbrown, crewcut against a bluing sky.

posted by boyhowdy | 8:39 PM |

Post a Comment
coming soon
now listening