October Poems After Reading Bashō in Brooklyn
The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Penguin Classics Edition
▼▼
FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AGO I WAS THE MAN Five hundred years ago I was the man Who borrowed your horse for as far as she would go Without turning back. You lent her to me Because you said a stranger would get lost On the grass-moor's hundred crossroads, But your horse knew the way. That's what you said, but the truth Is that you lent her because I asked. When I reached the village I sent her back riderless onto the grass-moor With a small pouch of money tied to her saddle. The money did not repay the favor: You trusted me; I only trusted your horse. To repay you in kind, before winter comes I will give away everything I cannot carry with me And cast myself among strangers again. October 15, 2016
▼▼
WHATEVER SUCH A MIND SEES IS A FLOWER
Pushed up after sliding down all day,
Dirty glasses on the evening train
Give lone men a bleeding aura.
I stand behind the yellow line
Knowing a wind will rise up
Just before the time to cross it.
A plastic bag of groceries bangs my side
And chokes the artery in my wrist.
We all must eat tonight, or starve.
"Easier to get one hundred thousand poor men
Through the eye of a turnstile
Than one rich man."
I stop at my door to write this
On my phone. When Sarah sees me
I tell her that I'm texting.
She repeats me in a silly voice
The way long-acquainted strangers do.
Tonight she and I make separate meals together.
I chop a mushroom that it's wrong
To add to the dish but worse to let rot,
Like deciding to be a poet after all.
The flame leaping at the pot
Is an artifact of the present:
One day all heat will be electric.
When dinner's over, the food that's left,
I could give it to the homeless girl
Who lives in Amy's room.
But I pack it smartly in tight containers
To remind me that I'll need to eat food later.
October 13, 2016
▼▼
THE MOON HAS A PAINFUL HALO
The moon has a painful halo
Because I've ruined my eyes
Studying too closely the things directly before me.
My far-sight is like a foreign place;
I think to look there
Only when there's a tumult.
I spend my days in small rooms,
Reading small texts
And dreaming of stronger light to see by.
The moon spends her nights
Unable to find me with her rays.
The halo is the artist's sign of her suffering.
October 15, 2016
▼▼
THE PARTY
Waking up on a fall night
From a fitful nap
I saw your text and knew I missed the party.
I'd forgotten that you invited me
Because you never replied
When I told you I've been sick.
I wasn't too sick to go.
I slept only to avoid thinking
I had nowhere to go.
I missed the party because of
How I miss parties.
From your rooftop I would have seen the moon.
And the bridge would have carried me
Back across the river
Even though you don't know where I live.
October 15, 2016