Alphabet City

When Jobs gave us a sneak-peek of
the Teach the Children ad, we all cried.

Chagall 2019

I told my son that
every time I come across
a dish with peanut butter
or egg yolk encrusted on it
coming out of the dish washer,
I curse both him and his parents.

Chagall 2019

runoff from the high ground breaks through
from under ice-crusted snow, cold water flows
such a deep blue that its black,
like the lines of a broad felt marker

salt left behind by a tear,
cooled in the wind,
dried on your cheek

you ask me if I will stay mad all day,
I ponder if I am simply supposed
to support all you purport to be
despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary

in response I ask
how can I be sure

I turn to watch the bolt of
life from the underbrush
startled by your footfall

you oversimplify the world, I say,
there’s a lot of gray between here and now

while you overcomplicate it, she says,
…I’m right here

you ask me if I intend to remain mad all day,
I ponder if I am simply supposed
to ignore, forgive, forget,
despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary

I turn to watch the bolt of
life from the underbrush
startled by our footsteps

you overestimate your claim to the world, I say,
there’s a lot of gray between now and then

while you overcomplicate it, it’s all here,
it’s all right, she says

runoff from the high ground breaks through
from ice-crusted snow cold water flows
deep blue-black like the lines of a broad felt marker

salt whisked away in a tear
blown by

Chagall 2019

Follow the vertical seam where the wine racks meet,
trace to where it intersects the horizontal plane
of the top shelves, there where the two lines junction
is a white paper bag, rumpled but packed.
Bring it the next time you come.

Chagall 2019

The rooms we inhabit
are sadder than the lives
we live

Chagall 2019

I tell my budtender, a large man,
I don’t want a strain that piques the appetite,
I don’t need to be making pizza at 3 A.M. He nods;
he knows what I mean.

Chagall 2019

runoff from the high ground breaks through
from under the ice-crusted snow, flows
such a deep blue that its black,
like the line of a broad felt marker

Salt left behind by a tear
cooled in the wind,
dried on your cheek

you ask me if I will stay mad all day,
I ponder if I am simply supposed
to support all you purport to be
despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary

in response I ask
how can I be sure

I turn to watch the bolt of
life from the underbrush
startled by your footfall

you oversimplify the world, I say,
there’s a lot of gray between here and now

while you overcomplicate it, she says,
…I’m right here

you ask me if I intend to remain mad all day,
I ponder if I am simply supposed
to ignore, forgive, forget,
despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary

I turn to watch the bolt of
life from the underbrush
startled by our footsteps

you overestimate your claim the world, I say,
there’s a lot of gray between now and then

while you overcomplicate it, she says,
can’t you see, I’m right here

Chagall 2019

Check out my books! Yeah – you and Robert Frost.

Chagall 2019

My mother and granddaughter,
the oldest and newest people I know,
together in one photo, reflecting light
back to the lens, a most beautiful array
of photons on glass, ink on paper

Don’t fade away

Chagall 2019

In time, all tumbles down,
breaking crowns, thumbs in pies,
lasses on tuffets, lads in blue,
kitchen utensils running away,
the love – the fear – the awe,
the moon, tiny lambs unsheared,
goodnight, sleep well, sleep tight,
the first last stars we see,
godspeed, good light, till morrow.

Chagall 2019