THE GIFT

Lift it up.

Pull the ribbons loose.

Tear through

the wrapping. 

Feel the paper’s texture,

the weight of what’s inside 

and how your hands 

are themselves weights 

doing the weighing.

Remove the lid.

Marvel at what you see.

In other words:

Abandon all plans.

Attend to the now.

This is the gift,

the thing to uncover.

It is there for the taking,

whenever you can replace

what you think

might be happening

with what is happening.

MAN WITH IRON

Hot metal. Steam.

This is what it takes

 

to smooth out

the wrinkles.

 

I’m ironing again.

Something

 

I rarely do.

I am going to 

 

a recommitment

ceremony. Last time

 

I ironed I wore

a tuxedo for the wrong

 

reasons and under false

pretenses—with a hope

in my heart 

that did not pan out.

Because I iron

so infrequently

these two times

are bunched up

in my mind,

are coupled 

as one, that I wear

like an irreconcilable 

memory that bares 

a crease 

 

I can’t seem 

to rub out.

 

A sadness

that only time

       in time 

will make

wrinkle-free.

METHOD, MADNESS, OR MOTIVATION?

That is the question.

To suffer the slings and arrows

while thinking our aim is true  

is how we miss our mark.

Archery is an apt metaphor,

because arrows, when they strike

the wrong target,

sting, stick, or destroy

if we’re not careful.

Pretending we are not 

the object of our own affections

is where the insanity lies.

Are we acting or in denial? 

We might not know.

We might not see 

our method or motivation

as desire running the show, 

the drama, drawing 

the bow back, and not the archer 

or actor-playwright at work.

Questions are good, 

we should let them

guide our actions, 

be our stage directions.

The play is not the thing.

Life, reality, authenticity are.

THE SCAVENGERS

There’s a beast of a tree 

in my neighbor’s yard.

And from it falls

riches beyond belief:

avocados 

the size of baseballs.

I can’t dally though

if I want to be the first 

to lay my paws upon 

their buttery decadence.

I have to harvest them 

from my flowerbeds

before the dew dries

or else I will find 

they have already been 

poached by a stray, 

squirrel, or crow.

Life is like this tree:

it will drop in our laps

opportunities daily.

We best snatch them up,

scavenge them, before 

we miss our chance.

The moment is only 

ripe and unsullied

for so long.