With her little black heel caught
in the welcome mat,
dry leaves skitter like mice inwards:
and this breath is something stolen,
a safe-house where each of us
is familiar, an uninvited guest
and she is the hinge-pin
between what might be
and the policeman who approaches.

As appeared in The Carolina Quarterly, Vol 61, No.1, 2010.

She looks at me from behind the counter.
Italian, eh?
Do you go to Church?
I confess that I don’t go
as often as I should.
Italian boy like you should go to church.
What does your mother say about this?
I tell her my mother is English.
Sure, England everybody goes to church.
Good Catholic country.
Married?
What about your wife?
What does she say?
My wife is Laotian.
Pah?
From Laos. You know, between Vietnam and Thailand.
Oh.
I mean, she is Canadian, born here.
But her family is from Laos.
They’re Taoist, but their sponsors
over here were Baptist. So now
they’re a kind of mix of
Taoist and Baptist.

She regards me for a moment,
looks down at my invoice, draws a small line
across an unused portion, then looks me
straight in the eye and asks:

You want taxes, or no?

The silence of millennia, the shadow
of a wall, its stones seamed with blood
cocooned with bones and burnt stars
caught the silhouettes of the watchtowers.

So much happens.

A hairline fracture from orbit; a hooked
nail scratching at the cellar door; so deep
the shade of its sentry houses, you drink
as if even water is a secret.

As appeared Prairie Journal, No. 53, Calgary, AB

We need three mangrove trees,
a bamboo hut,
and a shoreline.

We need a little supply boat
to putter into our bay
of half dreams
every other day.

We need one bald gentleman
with skin like an oiled glove,
one old lady
in a thong,
and one Frenchman
with a young local
companion.

We need the ginger parts
of our bodies
to remain untouched
by the sun, and for the moon
to wash under our huts at night.

We need to go without running water,
to nap anytime we want,
and to bathe in the sea.

We need
to miss things, occasionally
to be the spoiled princess,
the boyish villain.

We need to know
but for our money,
we are hated here
and love
every minute
of our stay.

 

As appeared in Catching Dawn’s Breath, 2008 (Lyricalmyrical Press).