Expunged

I lost my name today.
I brought with me, riding
in my shirt pocket but
when I went to write
the capital B, a blank
took its place. White
space. Whose face
is that, frozen in
the frame?      .
That blank extends
a chilly tendril out
from the white, enters
my throat, and finds
more emptiness.

tightrope

The first tightrope walker may not have been aware of just how aptly his actions would serve as a metaphor for all of humanity. How many times have I felt my path was so narrow, that the consequences of a single missed step would be so disastrous, and that I was the subject of a spectacle for hundreds of people who were watching me, half holding their breath, half hoping I would fall. The near impossible balance maintained with wavering steps, bent knees, arms outstretched as if bracing against invisible walls to either side. Or maybe that innovator first thought to stretch the line to represent his inner state of uncertainty and vulnerability.

precision

it's precision, probably
that makes me wonder
what to call those
black birds teeming
on the power lines above
the empty field. As one
they leap from their
perch and swirl over
the yellowing grass
like a cloud of bees.
Are they swallows? Sparrows?
Even if I knew their name
I would not have words
to describe the grace
of their flight, nor
the wonder of their unity.

fortunes

So, I was in a doubtful, confused, disoriented mood earlier today when I headed home for lunch. Kevin is moving up in the world, which increased my sensitivity to my directionless-ness, and Laura published some poetry, which increased my feelings of inadequacy in the creative realm. I prayed all the way home.

I felt immediately better when I saw my kids, Emily waved at me. I know they are the most important thing, and the best part of my life no matter what.

Then I saw the fortune cookies on the counter; I thought maybe there would be something pertinent to my current situation written in there: some direction, some answer to prayer. With anticipation, I opened my cookie and read this surprising fortune:

a wise lumberjack always has a sharp saw.

Traci's was more pertinent:

look to the future, but not so far that you miss the present.

Moral: God does not always answer prayers through fortune cookies.

Extinction

I'm not feeling it today. I heard about the extinction of experience. What will life be in the coming years? We move ploddingly towards more and more abstract forms of experience, more virtual worlds, more internet-based relationships. Even my own relationship with my wife began essentially over windows messenger, and continues via text message. Will I one day live my days entirely in one place and have the world as I know it under my fingers, glowing through a million pixels in front of me?
Is it less real than my great grandparents who, whoever they were, walked out in the open air daily? who only knew what they saw and what the newspaper and radio brought? Is my life more abstract only because my exposure is greater? Is cyber-bullying substantially different than schoolyard bullying?
Is experience less real because it happens through a computer?

it's ALIVE

The spook alleys,
the mazes through
withered stalks,
the chain saws,
hairy wolfmen,
gorillas, monsters,
skeletons, blood,
screams, madness
calculated, designed,
engineered to make you
cringe, flinch, fear, and
feel – for once – alive.

traffic

Northbound commuters rush by
on my left, just over the yellow
line - my only defense. My bulb
blinks with the patience
of a reset clock. On my right,
southbounders continue their trek
to homes beyond the dashed
white lines and red lights.
Flanked by yellow lines, thin
barriers against the traffic's
relentless pulse, I rock gently
in the gusts, watching for a gap
to cross the stream onto
a quiet byway that leads
home.