In A Harlingen Café (poem)

Just lost an hour of life–
A leather-apron-clad girl climbs
a ladder
and moves the hands of the clock forward.
I watch helplessly
at the table, my coffee cooling by a half-eaten sandwich.
Have I simply carried this hour since October?
Or did I use it well, somewhere along the way
not knowing I was spending it?
What happens to the accounts of those
who pass from this life between spring &
fall, when their hour is missing –
does it accelerate their demise?

For example: my father left this world
just as tiny pale flowers were emerging from trees, and
my mother, the same year, as leaves skittered across pavement
in the hospital parking lot.
A year of time contracting,
sharpening before vanishing altogether–
a lick of saltwater stinging your face.

March 27, 2016. Harlingen, the Netherlands.

Locating myself…(poem)

Map of Inquiry
The Map of Inquiry

Locating myself.
A metal ball – visiting or bouncing? in the pinball machine
of choosing–
it is mating season, after all.
The ball rolls down, slows, then kisses off a bumper
sometimes it pauses for a moment, testing gravity
feeling for magnetism
connection…
then drops off, strikes another place,
or is flipped back to the starting point by the
realisation there is more to look at
no rest until it catches the “bard-hole”
That’s the problem with being round.