Poetry Week of March 1

March 5, 2020

The bright rye grass in the median
And the cactus I always study
At the intersection.
But today it was he who I caught
In the corner of my eye.

I looked at him squarely and opened my coin box.
He walked over saying over and over again:
Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
I hand him a few bills. And say,
“Don’t be sorry, be safe.”

As he walked backwards into traffic after the light turned green.
His pleases haunting me.
Desperation or theater?
I can’t question.

And I move into my day begging for my own:
Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.
We just stand on different corners of our own lives.
And pray.

March 4, 2020
A poem by me and Anne M. Stadler

All you have to do today
Breathe
Rest
Sustain
Love

March 3, 2020

It’s better if we don’t know our age really.
To just be in the skin of who we are.
And what we know.
What we know about what and who we love.

To ignore the “age” spots.
The graying of the clippings at the hair salon.
The shape of time and babies.
To see no time in others, either.
Young or old. Doesn’t matter.

What matters is the time we have. Not the time we’ve been.
Not the distance of our years,
But rather the connection of knowing.
Each other.

Fifty years. That was the time between us -and it was nothing.
Eclipsed by a greater love and seeing the hearts of each other.
And knowing that time,
Heart time
Is timeless.