To have in mind a line and find it in a face,
the mind must trace its grace in kind and find its place in space.
Canvas 1,229 — January 5, 2019
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As I Recall
A few days ago, a red-tailed hawk swooped past the window and landed in the small bare maple opposite the front door. Not a very large bird, it was still too big for its chosen perch. With each move it made, it was poked and brushed by twigs. Finally it braved the maze and dropped to the ground. After investigating the muddy dahlia bed, it flew off across the driveway […]
Tell Me, Grandfather
We sit down, we go to work, the work turns out to be play. We stand up, we go out, we face the day. Tell Me, Grandfather Somewhere, long ago, a village, a woman, a broom. Here, now, this road, this hunger, this sweet-ripe orange. But . . . is there no dragon? Yes, there is, if you wish. And a bottomless well. Does the dragon fall into the […]
Ancient Andy Lace and Heavy Metal Pews
Speaking of past lives, it must be one of mine that brings Andy Lace to mind. As for “Heavy Metal Pews,” I stand willingly accused of variety. And I still have not cut my hair, even though there is time, or something that quaintly resembles it. Heavy Metal Pews So, John, I hear you guys just finished a new CD. Tell me, how’d it go in the studio? […]
On its side in a trailer at the curb, one bare Christmas tree.
Or is it a casket in a hearse, and a human tree?
The Last Day of the Year — 2018
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The Last Day of the Year — 2018
Winter Notes
There’s a spider in the wind chime, and I’m in my web of winter thoughts and old gray clothes, blowing notes through hollow, crumbling walls, while the wind, so cold, sings prayers and moans her frozen colophons — once, twice, breath, ink . . . ghosts. [ 244 ]
He’s a Shakespeare of sorts, demented, plumed, and proud,
but he answers to Quixote when no one else is around.
A Shakespeare of Sorts
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A Shakespeare of Sorts
My Mother Saved Our Baby Shoes
Each day, I give thanks for the unknown and unexplained. My Mother Saved Our Baby Shoes My mother saved our baby shoes, two handfuls of wedding rice in delicate nets, flowers, roses, brittle stems, in her cedar chest. And in all her years of not remembering, I wonder which she forgot the best. I wonder which she smiled at when she sat here dreaming in her make-believe and present-tense. […]
I Like the Idea
For every love, every grief, every pain, an early-morning streetlight — but there is, I am certain, one star to explain. “Early-Morning Streetlight” Recently Banned Literature, December 29, 2014 I Like the Idea I like the idea that there’s an idea. In the bare trees of winter. In the wise-hungry birds. In madness and mittens. Out past the graveyard. Have you seen them? How they roost on the branches […]
Moving Books Around
At the moment there’s scarcely room here to sit, leave alone exercise free movement of my elbows. And while this is only a slight exaggeration, I’d best make no sudden moves, or I might topple the tall stacks of books everywhere around me, as the room is in a state of turmoil brought on by my decision to add two more tall bookcases, despite the fact that there’s no obvious […]
William Michaelian 