The Nature of Things

The dragonfly says: So this is a nose.

The fly at the window says to the sky: Let me in.

The moth to the porch moon: Why are you being so difficult? Is this love? Really?

The butterfly: I think I’m going to be sick.

The turtle crossing the road: They’ll wait.

The sun to the moon: What kept you?

The moon at 9:30am: No. Over here.

The mother to her child: Do you want the truth, or do you want me to make something up?

The child to his mother: Make something up.

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Tiger Lilies

No longer the tulips
that brought joy, yet we
have the ranunculus. And
the tiger lilies forget

themselves here. The
cabbage roses, those languid
summer rentals, gather for
prayer with us for supper.

The sun revolves around
the bee while young Gracie
adds: “the tiger ladies are
dancing with all the tiger
men.”

A Kind of Snow

Every night of the year my
Christmas lights are on in the
two old front trees. People no
longer laugh, but continue to
drive by with young children
whose eyes are wide and mouths
agape. Some people stop their
cars in the driveway as if at a
resort in order to take photos
among my early fireflies and
white, white trees.

When God Was 8, Too

I asked God if he had a best friend.
I asked Him if He was inside lions, too.
I asked Him what hurt Paris. Then I
changed my mind. I made a deal with
Him: if I stayed close, He would, too.

I asked Him about Mom’s wine spritzers.
He didn’t know. I said that He could talk
too sometimes. I told on my Dad when he
hit Mom the time I hid in the closet. Dad
stopped living with us after that. God
moved away, too.