Kitchen rich with the smells
of coffee and honeydew melon,
hot steam iron
and last night's rain,
I lean against the counters
that my daughter has cleaned
and watch her
shake the blouse she's pressed,
inspect both front and back
Gee, I'm late!
Can I get a ride to school?
The house accepts my presence
as I return, displace the silence
with my reading of the sports page,
rinsing dishes in the sink.
I still can hold
return my fingers' touch.
No Longer Young
On the prairies there are barren patches.
In the jungles thick and tangled growth.
Feelings come up through our roots
and flower, fester, tremble, curl
—a process that goes on, that we can't stop.