Sunday, September 11, 2011

Looking Back


A TV viewed
through a closed window

and the sound of roots lifting.


Grow, grow, grow! Turn your roots

upside-down and suck the sky

from the glass. Then, break it.


My boots are two horse heads
singing for their spines, bone trees

above the pay phone
where we meet. An orange hangs

from the branches. You peel the rind
with your teeth, telling me to hold

out my hand not for the fruit
but for three seeds that you fold

in my palm. Two are for the horses.
The last, you say, is for you.


And was it worth it, you ask,
the leaving? Was it worth

the view of Sunset Acres when,
looking back, you thought you heard

the clomp of earth on boxes?


real sugar. Here,

a cafe empty
but for our clinking spoons
and your forest, the city ripe
with fruit. Pouring banana milk

in our coffee, we remember
deserts, white mountain
air conditioning. A boom box clings
to a passing car. Here,

open windows--
a breeze like hot radio.

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