Monday, January 7, 2013

Unexpected gifts from Charleston to Chicago and Chicago to Charleston

Two fights up, two flights down
And I can’t hear.  I have airplane ear.
I have cotton in my ear,
It won’t clear.  I yawn,
but no pop do I hear.

What a nuisance; “I’m so sorry,”
the muffled sympathy roars.
I worry I’ll hear no more
Still dumbfounded
My head is stuffy and sore.

Hark, it seems I’ve lost my voice also.
“What? Come again,” they say,
Inside my head I bray--
But they tell me I speak so softly
It’s as if I’m far away.

And they are right. I feel apart.
There is a moat between us now
With loss of sound I can avow
It is no small thing to have a head full of fog
For a dimness of speech is also endowed.

Morning on the porch

This morning, the porch is strangely wet
Dampness having been everywhere
Yet, there was no storm last night.

The dog takes no notice
He sniffs attentive to the earth
Singularly focused as I am often not.

Encircled by this mystery of moisture
And surrounded by a lovely quiescence
I survey my world.

It is a new place here to take in
No fields of corn filled with snow
No Java Joe’s. It even smells different.

A friendless beginner, a babe
I am a tree rooted on a shoal in the ocean
Hoping sand will gather and make a beach.

The beach growing with each tide
Until it is a solid floating island in the sea of time
And I can plant my soul.