JUST ASKING

JUST ASKING

Why do you keep feeding us?
We don’t give you much:
a few bones, some onion skins,
now and then something like
a token of pinecones and twigs
or a lanyard we made at camp.

You’re tired, I know.
You look tired. And old.
All those wrinkles and cracks.
And you don’t smell so good,
not any more, 
not even after the rain.

What happened to your jewels—
those little birds and buggy things?
Are you letting yourself go?
I wouldn’t blame you
since we don’t seem to care much
about how you look, or what you do.

And where would you go?
And when we’re hungry,
where will we?


Thanksgiving, 2022

PROMISE

PROMISE

 

We keep showing you:

 

The little frogs, the birds.

Islands and mountains,

drowned rivers, 

fertile fields.

Brown leaves out of season.

 

Trees move so slowly.

 

Don’t let dread freeze you;

ice is deadly as heat.

Keep moving. 

Stay together.

Stamp your feet.

 

And promise us 

 

you’ll save something:

one sparrow, 

one sapling.

One patch 

of hallowed ground.

 

From 2015.