green linoleum
 

green linoleum in care of servants,
i could tell we were slightly different,
mother there, who first made me insecure
but always english and robinson evenings
here on the south shore where red squirrels
leap, twigs and leaves in sun, confidence
down on dreadful days we pray hours to see him

my safe young look could wet firelight happy
beyond ample buttered cinnamon toast

how pure we were on our morning walks
erect and steps that bounce, weaving
in and out of the brush

our favorite books, piles and piles
of them i couldn't even guess, hearing
nothing on the waiting bureau, large sepia
pages slope over the side. following all
my early pin-stripe jerseys, for all things
seem to match our green linoleum
while you my friend were served

we made too much noise, in all the roar the small
voices on those pages came out on high tide

and chocolate bars a reward for being

well read. unmoved by all the foam and plastic
we watched toys gather dustdirt under the hedge
on a fine lawn where father sat your father
my father with callous hands and fuchsia bells
from another place never drawn near. then
the walks. doctor divinity beside us. wallflowers
on the hallway ceiling, an omnipresent boy dances
with someone else while we roam second hand
bookstores. i could tell we were slightly different

measures of dispersion

rooms that even today are wonderful views
drawn from city building hills, antique

ceramic vase evening warm, ghosts in orange and gold
threads, those perfect women scantily dressed
in museums

answers in square letters and decisive hand
open once upon a time reasons: resting after
a race on new grass he shows me the way,
whistler's way 72 a lithograph 'the forge'

sunrise ablaze of red with an aqua strip

all seems plain quaint, too frail to hear
an undiscovered painting hung in locked
back storage place, wait to inform a shallow
pool thick with blossoms in a woolen box
in a cupboard on the shelf bound in light blue

it has never been a look back a remembrance

only a fairy tale swept in circles hidden under
a solemn one a number past zero. spiritually, we,
was a wild excuse, luncheon dates. life saws
open closed porches. i told you true values
are a tender spot that rattles, chuckles on
a post card

if i learn how not to bore or show-off

but humble is not frail and what we sought
strikes the eleventh position, a broken cup
of morning coffee, your mug full of stony stares
drives me to the church door

hungry as cobwebs i'm caught by greek clio
strumming the line dance on a penny stamp

clicking a hint on the steps

tea and lime

a chain of olive leaf
and the smell of milkthistle
warm dark reasons

we fling our thorns
at each other, a freckled pain
a quiet awkward sound
scents the house

tide escapes back in full ardor
three days late
a storm slams on our cheap doors.
small sea pebbles become the significant
knock of a stranger

we run away from words

the herbs burn

smoke in everycell
peppers our senses

then we walk a circle of slippery elm
through infrequent unpaved roads

light on uncut glass on a slope,
a crest, a wave, the foam, weeds
we dare not climb, pick, bathe
so we turn/return
boil water
for tea and lime lyric of the bitter
glimpse on rice paper
we undress