SHELTER IN PLACE

There is no

disease here.

No panic.

No fear.

Its pantry is full.

This lily is fine

to shelter

in place.

As long as

there is

sunlight and

earth beneath

its ivory

shealth—

and love,

most of all,

in the hearts

of passers-by.

WHERE TENDON MEETS BONE

I am forever looking

for just the right

insertion point—

the enthesis—where

tendon meets bone.

The physiologist in me

wants to bring us here,

to this place

of emotion without

motion

attachment without

attachment.

I want us to root ourselves

to this ground,

to the fiber and tissue of

this moment

and stay here

without having

to muscle our way

into anything

but the texture

of Now.

THE SHAKEDOWN

It all came back

when I wrapped my lips

around the rim of the straw.

The Ground Cow, in Auburn, CA.

The roadside burger palace 
my parents would stop at

on our way to Lake Tahoe.

And how, as a boy, I would order,

with my burger and fries,

a vanilla milkshake.

The shake would arrive—a meal

unto itself—in the 30 oz.

stainless steel mixing cup.

It was so thick

that no amount of sucking brought

ice cream to my lips. 
And yet I sucked anyway.

So hard, in fact, I thought

that if I wasn’t careful

I’d suck myself right down 

the straw and into 

the creamy swamp 

of the shake itself.

Back then, my imagination was

so potent and had such a pull,

that just thinking something

nearly made it so.

YAHTZEE!

A cup

is emptied

of its

content.

A tiny

tumult

across a kitchen

table.

A terrain

where hope

and chance

will mingle

as father and son

game

a gamble

scored in straights.

DIDEROT’S REGRET *

An old dressing gown.

A cave of common cloth

and kindness.

A creature comfort

the animal I am

felt safe in.

The shift made my home 

a harmony

where every possession 

sang the same song 

and by heart.

I knew myself in it, 

in the mangy frock, and others

recognized me because of it.

How quickly I traded

this solace and second skin in

for something better

and more lavish,

when fortune rid me of my poverty

and humility—

and caused me to covet and crave

a red, red robe

that I had to make mine.

Who knew a tint of scarlet would

cloak everything outside of it

in depravity and obsolescence.

I went about trying

to remedy this error

by upgrading all I owned

with luxuries that would match

my stodgy, garish garment.

But the more I bought

the more dissatisfied

and disenfranchised I became.

Now I am wrapped in regret,

enshrouded in it and am a slave

to my old robe’s replacement,

because I became consumed

with consumption.

No one knows me anymore.

Least of all myself.

*Inspired by Diderot’s essay: Regrets for my Old Dressing Gown, 

or A warning to those who have more taste than fortune

SMILE

Some days

the slant

of the sun

just before dusk

is enough

to make

me smile.

SAND IN SUIT

After a day

of surf and sun

I think I am done

with the beach

until the sand

in my suit

abrades me

on the long

drive home,

as if to say:

Take nothing

for granted.

Water floats what

it too can drown.