Tuesday, Feb. 28

Evenings I sort through regrets

& toss them into my dreams

to see what images & outcomes they create.

Mornings I've doubts,

but ideas still hover

uncompleted, in a muddled sort of state.

The things I've done and what I've yet to do

they need to be divided

between early & late.

Monday, Feb. 27

Miz Gulch has ridden thru my life many times

keeping a close eye on me.

She knows better, you see

She always does

From the start

My joys are her discomfort

What delights me pains her spirit

We shouldn’t live on the same road

Or same town

Or same state

Let alone in the same heart.

Sunday, Feb. 26

Mom said 3,

raised it to 5,

finally said “all you can carry”

But by then they’d let me upstairs

into the adult library.

Every Saturday

without fail

we’d pile into the car

get our stacks of books

and cart them home to devour.

I had no doubt then

all knowledge

could be found there.

Saturday, Feb. 25

Islands, archipelagos, peninsulas
shores of cement curb
channels of blacktop
wavecrests of parking lines rippling.
Navigate if you can around the currents
in convoy, cars tacking one way
then another, weaving
towards the torrent pouring nearby
ready to set sail.

Friday, Feb. 24

Isaac Stern plays music

sweet and strong and lifting 

even if in black & white 

with Jack Benny muddling 

the same tune in comic counterpoint. 

I pause, making coffee, wondering 

where those rich & full memories are 

when I’m not using them. 

Buck dozes, nodding, smiling.

Thursday, Feb. 23

Easter still seems so distant
plenty of time to prepare
hours left to share
resistant to the idea of a conclusion
insistent that immediate needs be met.
There at the arrival of the ending
will I regret my readiness
less than it could have been
might have been
should have been.

Ash Wednesday

Grey is the color of the sky, the street, the ashes

Earl Grey is the tea of spring, of Lent, of modest sacrifices

Grit melts and grinds along the sidewalks as winter ends, grey & gravelly

Imposing ashes leaves grey traces not easily scrubbed out of the ridges & whorls of my thumb

Shrove Tuesday

When the sun starts standing up straighter,

the heat passing deeper into the soil,

days are not just longer but brighter, warmer.

Before tree buds become leaves, they’re

tuning forks vibrating just below audible sound,

a tone making the soggy landscape quiver, shaking with light.