February 11, 2012

special motions


























Besieged by time,
however meaning less.

Still, it wraps around--

(place your finger here.
tie a bow quite tight.)

--a present
i want to give you.

Please,
hurry, now!
I cannot escape this hour
or a change of the guard
come morning.
It looms.

This moment is:
a teething toy giraffe.
Cold like
6:35 a.m. somewhere.
A Virginia winter.

The engine growls low
between white cushions of snow
a kitten's purr, a dragon's snore.
Waves of smoke bend in the fog
held fiercely
by an infant's curled fist.

An island of a girl
stomping her boots
checking the time,
watching warm shapes
bloom on glass
from inside out.

Looking over her shoulder
for a deer that sometimes
runs by.

She pirouettes.
Gray bundled layers.

A silly hat mis-matched
to gloves.

Waiting for dad.

Aware of sleepy eyes
window watching
waking
crepitating coffee machines.

He'll be quick down the steps soon.
A blur of green crispness,
his uniform starched the night before
it comes to life.

Off they go,
quietly worried.
Slippery slopes
fuzzy headlights
invisible deer.

KaPowZam!
The car door slams.

Running to be on time.
Alarm bells.
Dreaming of the way
home smells.