Not A Dream

Walking on the jetty of broken mirrors 

and gravel-encrusted bones and all those 

phone calls I promised to make to raise 

money to find a cure for the midnight 

disease I don’t even believe exists

because I rather enjoy stumbling alone

in the dark.

[LSS, 7/31/23]

Naming the Work

Throwing all the rocks I’ve collected, 

the words I’ve written today 

into the tumbler—no one needs the story 

when there’s a perfect title.

[LSS, 7/31/23]

Body of Water

Zero emptied of nothing

breaking the shore

rolling back to the sea

a sieve made of water.

[LSS, 7/27/23]

The Topology of the Moment

A green-inflected motion sickness 

caused by words struggling to make up 

a story, making believe there is a story.  

There is no story. Never has been. 

Never will be anything 

but the gravel under your feet

and the dust in your bed.

[LSS, 7/26/23]

Amanda Smith – 1846-1939

the state of Florida was one year old when I came in
I was born with a caul
make of that what you will
the midwife removed it with a sheet of paper
I was only told this years later
but it would explain the tingling of second sight
that blessed and cursed me through this life

childhood was spent hauling in nets
with whatever we could catch
chasing off crows and
hoeing a quarter acre of kitchen garden
while my brothers John, William, and Thomas
followed tired jennies plowing
land for corn and tobacco, pruning orange trees
where the Suwanee meets the Gulf

practically an old maid, married at fourteen
Henry Edward Smith was an Episcopalian minister
twenty-six and lame after being thrown from a horse
his first wife died giving birth and
left behind three surviving children
soon I had two of my own
every day was a blessing, but
we are taught to earn that blessing

surrounded by swampy land and struggling plantations
we maintained our small patch of Eden
two years into the war our fields became pastures
we helped feed the Confederacy’s need for beef
Henry heeded the call, and off he went
lame leg and all, Christian and opposed
to the institution of slavery, but hating
the federal government just as much
for unfair taxation
it was the typhoid that took him
I never saw him again and refused offers
to remarry and give up what little I had

carpetbaggers found small opportunities
later the railroads came and changed lives
pinching pennies and gathering the law on my side
I bought and added land to my holdings
raised more cattle and expanded the tobacco fields
fast-talking speculators learned to stay away
my partners were iron and lead
and they called me Shotgun Smith
add in a woman’s second sight
and you have a potent mix for success

there followed the accumulation of more land
business dealings both good and bad
sons and daughters took over the day-to-day
I gained a reputation as a seer and revelator
enjoyed good food, whiskey, and tobacco,
found men generally a hindrance
wove my way through society’s changes
automobiles and tractors
lightbulbs, gigot sleeves, and lending libraries
newspapers, iceboxes, and radios

white women in Florida gained the vote, and
the great depression and unasked for hurricanes
forced us back to self-dependance, even as
invading fruit flies decimated the citrus

as the world picked up speed
I settled into a rocking chair with
a mug of coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar
a view of the world from a front porch
where a few visitors still came to be told
what was yet to come

my predictions now limited to weather, crops
health, and economics
the electrification of Suwannee proceeded apace
without me
and that was fine and proper
because questions came crowding in
about life, love, and friendship
about what makes people tick
and especially what happens
after death
even with second sight
that veil cannot be parted

I look back and wonder
did I live a good life?
can you answer that?

[RK, 6/29/23]

Redemption

the epitaphs cannot be redeemed like green stamps,
green eggs and ham, grass green Crayola crayons

would you shade your eyes against the glare
scrap a fingernail in shallow last words?

the smooth throughfare of asphalt records
neighborhood shortcuts on the way elsewhere

would you risk a twisted ankle, a bee sting,
grass stains on dirt streaked dungarees?

[RK, 6/29/23]

Juggling

the juggler on a unicycle
coconuts on the ears
a six foot long stocking cap
spider webs on the lower deck
a house perched at the edge
of a hilltop, a dream,
a coming of age story

I recall locked doors
blonde wood paneling
indirect lighting
the revelation of the word recalcitrant
bowls of lentil soup
a fascination with fire, snow,
swamp life, the booming sound
of adolescents blasting into space

juggling memories
do all those plus and minuses
balance out in the end?

[RK, 7/26/2023]

Water

public fountains we called bubblers
school hallways, libraries, the courthouse,
randomly placed and safe to drink
remember there is a cooling unit inside
fluoride, a steady flow
faith in the moment, no thought for the future

long lasting rivers
slicing roads laid down on township lines
the up and down trails through
kettles and moraines
a landscape etched by glaciers
and collapsing limestone
the water table just beneath
our perception

a narrow definition of geography
until I fell in love with
dry arroyos and desert bajada
sere and scorching days
where water was the exception

[RK, 7/26/2023]

The Shirt We Wore

It was yours first

and I know this

because I took 

a photograph of you

wearing it while

you were juggling

and then I took it

from you while you 

were still juggling

and I was wearing it 

while you were not 

watching me watching 

you still juggling.

[LSS/7/25/23]

 

The Opposite

 

is true:

a game

I’ve been 

playing some

time now,

and now

the water

tastes very,

very good.

[LSS, 7/23/23]

Tempus Fugit

How many times have I

written this poem while 

walking out of a room

trying to remember 

the brilliant nothing 

that allowed all 

the other somethings 

to exist?

[LSS, 7/6/23]