Streams

Stepping across, carefully, there’s a stumble

built into this, a foot on the closest stone

then onto the next and next, till you have

crossed with your feet, shoes almost dry.

I did this in a dream last night, like when

I was young crossing that stream by my

in-laws camp in Bakersfield. It would be full

in the spring, the water racing downhill and

only a trickle by late summer. Crossing was

the challenge and I was young enough to do

it without thinking twice. And I remember

the stream up by Bingham Falls, even earlier

high school, college, and when I was first back

around here. I would step off and feel safe, so

surefooted that it was just another thing to do.

Now, even in my dream, I stumble then step out

and over, afraid the whole way, as if the streams

have been waiting for me, as cocky as I was,

waiting for me, ready to get their revenge.

 

             Flee

They flee from me

from fear or instinct –

grey squirrels, the few red

even chipmunks run

scramble away

and birds of every feather

color and size, fly away

from something they fear

and yet

there I am, filling the feeders

sunflower seeds and seed mixes

handfuls of peanuts every morning

a free soup kitchen of sorts

but they flee from me

even when I use my soothing soft

voice, the one I reserve for small children

and animals of all sorts

and I make a real effort to seem

harmless, calm, slow moving

and yet

they flee from me

as if there’s a line we never can cross

and they’ll flee from me

regardless of what I try to do.

 


                Last Day

With one day left before you leave

Planning becomes awkward

Dividing time between

The obligatory and the sentimental

Between the need to go and

The urge to stay

The what to do next and

The what can be left undone.

The hours slow down and

Then disappear

Get used up and are gone

As you become gone.

Last time I was caught in this

Awkward setting, this space and time

Twenty-four hours left

I walked around taking pictures

Random pictures of the place

I was leaving –

The table and chairs we sat in most

Afternoons, reading or just watching

The water around us

The statue we liked – that rabbit’s head

Its ears flopping forward

Even the couch and bedspread

And a single picture of my right foot

Held up to show the carpeting and how

Close my wife’s foot was on that carpet.

More the sentimental than the obligatory

But that’s what I did.