When I was little I loved writing poems, especially long complicated rhyming ones. I used to run rhymes for words through my head when I felt out of place or was waiting. Now I have a cell phone. I have been exceptionally lucky to have been able to participate in some lovely poetry writing workshops this last year.
These are the days of not having very much to report and so I am going to stick my neck out tonight and just give you a poem. I really miss animals. And dancing. I hope that in the future I get to have many more tandas. And there will still be pandas.
A white and black goat in the meadow peers intently
At the spring sky with her amber eyes.
The breeze lifts the long hairs along her neck ridge.
She sighs, shakes her head, and I see her round belly fill
And then go gaunt again.
There is no time now. The sun warms goat and horse and
Half the house and me on the wool carpet from a Pomeranian past.
The little scratchy fibers slowly turn my elbows red as I read and read,
Moving slowly on my belly to follow the rectangle of slanting spring sun.
It is 2 am or maybe 4 am. No time and I sink into an embrace.
We move as one in this Buenos Aires basement and I sigh.
Two people leaning together and we are all there is.
I close my eyes and hear the sound of leather soles sliding
And hearts swelling as we all circle the room as one.
The goat taught me how to lean into another body.
In the morning, on the old wooden stanchion
She cocked one hip and let her warmth, her weight,
Press into my shoulder as I milked her long brown teats.
And the milk sang a metallic song into the bucket.
We hold each other up. Breathing together, sighing as one.
No thought. No time.
