Holding Space

Would that all who’d seen fit
To have been unkind to me
Have their childhood wounds healed

Here, look from my window

Flower and vegetable gardens
Fruit tree and fire pit
Baseball, my love, baseball

Swipe Left

Right this

Take us back to the shallow meeting place
To before the gravity of what was never a simple baseball game

Delete January
My I Love You
Your I Do Love You Too

Swipe left on me
Be unaccountable, actually

Take us to before November
To when we were less than digital

To when I was not here alone in your deep

Blackbird

I’ll never trust your eyes
Always flashing early, often
Happy speaking lies against a good, good heart

I trust the strangers
Never needing to have seen
Somehow know the truth of me

I trust the front-yard flowers, too
Sometimes August-blooming poppies
Just for me, in June instead

June Will Be Okay

Deciding this morning whether
To be afraid for our weather

For this Earth
For its Underlings

I noticed triumph
Its and Theirs

I saw green, cold tears
Gladness!

There was little left to do
Open wide the window

Cry out
Three cheers for a cold victory!

Under The Tree

I wish your teacher
Hadn’t taught you hardball
Or you’d have played a bit softer with me

And had I needed
Not to wipe the sweat from your brow
You’d be sleeping, I’d be living a life

Flee now, rejection!
Else I wish forever more
On this Earth, in my dreams, and in heav’n

Naught

All I learned Today

Blood’s thicker than Truth

I unsettle You

If my thumb’s broken, it was not for Naught

Kids will find their Fun

Joy lives ‘longside Pain

Victims don’t live Here

Baseball

I don’t want to live this yet, Springtime

For, every time the birds and bees and all manner of creatures and things -good sports and bad- migrate back

There’s the media storm, the tough talk, the hype, the great expectations placed in the wrongest of wrong places

So I will close my eyes and wait, Springtime