Timothy

I’m going to a place

only I can know.

The road as I remember it,

deep within my mind.

Its curves mapped 

onto the grooves on my brain.

The fall leaves

skitter on the road—

scratching at the asphalt 

drifting towards the woods

carried by October.

The mix of golden,

orange and brown

are all that brighten 

and shape the landscape.

I sit beneath the three pines—

whose branches were cut 

so I could not climb.

But when we could:

I’d see her up there,

miles above me—

just beneath the clouds.

The sun mostly blocked

by the thicket of the trees.

An isolated world

As I recall them, 

years later

moments mix together.

Time alone blends into time together

Calendar Year 

I won’t become a heavy drinker

no, not in this lifetime.

But will I go to CVS

at three in the morning

and talk to Abraham

about the roof collapsing

over his head in Haiti

when the storm came.

And I think of Jean

who never talked

about his home

but told me stories

of his boxing matches.

Where do we go from here?

Why is the rain so hot?

My raincoat only drenches my legs.

and how do I best roll my sleeves

once I get warm?

*****************************

Calendar Year 

I won’t become a heavy drinker

no, not in this lifetime.

But will I go to CVS

at three in the morning

and talk to Abraham

about the roof collapsing

over his head in Haiti

when the storm came.

And I think of Jean

who never talked

about his home

but told me stories

of his boxing matches.

Where do we go from here?

Why is the rain so hot?

My raincoat only drenches my legs.

and how do I best roll my sleeves

once I get warm?