USA

dbear@value.net

A Spring Field in Michigan

I sat in the grass
higher than me
a field near
a Michigan barn in spring
afternoon sun
highlights spider webs
and pollen

high above in blue
a red tail circles on a thermal--
around me ground squirrels fear

wind pushes grass and leaves
old voices whisper

my people
Ojibwe
have died here for centuries

the ground is full of their thoughts

( first published in Buckle& )

The Aquarian at Midnight
(two women in a cafe)
for Karla

1.
a libertine is one who has not noticed her shadow's abandonment

2.
I wanted to get to know you better
but you never talk to me and I got tired of always starting
you've frightened the trees again
they are dropping leaves with each of your words
I like your voice its hint of desperation
suggesting the manic stare is not congenital
-I want to slash her tires-- she has not blinked since her arrival
a busboy reaches in pours water the break is a relief
though I think about excusing my self to the restroom
to see how high the window is
I think you'd look better if you dressed like me
you should come to my house we'll do a make-over I've got wine
-of course she does-
we can work on that hair and your clothes I know a great shoe store
and a little lipstick might draw attention from your nose
the busboy gave me a knife as psychics go he's pretty good
I 'm thinking of traveling east
we could take my car I don't even blink
the knife feels good in my hand but not nearly sharp enough
call me sometime
I have an urge toward telephone vandalism
you know what age this is dontcha
I think we'll make a pretty good team

( previously published in Baker Street Irregular )

Looking For Anger

When he drank he got mean
I remember, though, once
Spying at my grandparents fighting
He pulled the refrigerator over in rage
On top of my grandmother
Everything fell out
Jars and bottles shattering
Milk, eggs, orange juice
Bleeding out on linoleum
Gram never left the house
Until her black eye had gone
I never knew who pulled the
Big white behemoth refrigerator
Back up or mopped
And cleaned the kitchen floor
I assumed she did
In the quiet morning hours
He left yelling and slamming
Gone for three nights
He drank a lot
Always mean

I used to go out back behind
The garage
Staring at the night sky
Grimacing whiskey to get drunk to
See where and how the anger came
But I always giggled or
Clumsily fell to the ground
Enjoying my silliness
I checked to make sure I was
Drinking the same thing he did
But never did find the anger

( previously published in Haight Ashbury Literary Journal )

© All Copyright, Dancing Bear.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.