A POEM A DAY

I'm just happy to be here.

Tag: zachary

4/30: MOONMIST

Show me all the possibilities
on how not to be alone.
I am telling you I need you.
The rain won’t quit looking
for a body to swallow
It is telling everyone to need
each other, but people do not
have appetites for people.
People just have appetites.
I don’t long for the company
of another because I am hungry.
Every day I perform for love
but the audience is stuck in traffic
The show does not go on
even when my mouth does,
even when I say what I mean,
and who knows what I mean.
I am under the moon with a woman
who does not know my history with rain
who looks at me like the first days in spring
and suddenly the sensation of sinking is gone.
How do I explain the absence of love
without looking for it?
I am my heart’s only detective.
The mystery of meaning
is knowing without saying
but I cannot do both.
Show me, show me, show me.
All the possibilities.
How does anyone stop being alone?
Does the sadness pile and pile or
does it serve some other purpose?
Say my name in the middle of a sentence
where sadness cannot reach.
If my day is truly good, I will tell you all about it.
Don’t let me slip away with simple answers.
If ever I make-pretend, take away my hands.
Both my hands are open and only you can fill them.
When I trap myself inside the house lonely built,
tell me to open my curtains.
Outside my street, live oaks longer than longing.
Behind my house, a whole street called Moonmist
Early one morning, a grandmother teaches her grandson
how to rake, shows him where to place his hands,
and how to build a mountain of fallen things,
and he is trying so hard to gather, to put his hands
where his hands should go, and even then,
his body is not big enough, he cannot do
what he has to do, but what difference does
that make?

4/30

The softest girl I ever said I love you to
smashed me up the tidiest too
so my tremble should not surprise you.

If it does surprise you, then that means
sad is still startling, and boy, what I wouldn’t do
to be surprised by all this too.

I am weeping at the grocery store
again. Either it is because I am lonely
or none of the avocados are eager

enough. Why does soft still stay
forgotten? Oh if I could wash
the rotten in sink water, will the rest of 

me suffer? I keep wanting life to be sweet
but if the skin stays sugar, then
I am nothing more than melting meat.

Oh, the heat of the evening 
is how dinner greets me. Even
the best of me gets eaten by

what’s left of me. Is this what 
remaining is? To feel so much
dust, you wonder what it is you’re still

covering up?