This June

I awaken
at quarter till six
when the one window
in my room is flooded
with light from the
newborn sun
flat on my back,
I glance down at
the bare hand
connected to the
bare arm lying across
my chest, brown
curls cover the pillow
she stole from me
in the night

Staring up
at the dim white
stucco ceiling
I think about last June
how I felt the despair
of friends long gone
and how I ached,
more than anything,
to avoid being like
Frost’s oven bird:
screeching at dawn
alone in a forest
beyond reach

And now
waking up to this
I shut my weary eyes,
trying to steal a few
soft fragments
of sleep from wherever
it is they come from
before time begins to
slip away again

MSBQ

Rainier

hit the throttle
two wheels race
beneath us, the
white and yellow
lines all a blur
the vastness of
the mountain
looms higher above
our heads, twenty
miles to Paradise
that graceful transition
mother nature’s
change of wardrobe
from the autumn green
to a frosted combination
white, grey, and blue
your hair blowing behind
trailing us like a tiny
comet’s tail in space
the air seems thinner
and a little bit colder
I love it when I can
see your breath
we decided to hike to
the east slope to camp
a single tent with a
single sleeping bag
if for nothing more
than the chance to see
the sun peek over the
edge of the world
and begin its steady crawl
across the sky and over
our mountain

MSBQ

Labor Pains

the most unsettling flight of fancy
a man returns home from work
throws his coat across the living room
he wonders where everyone’s at
as he kicks off his shoes
his wife, well into her third trimester
is trying to teach their son how to read
(a difficult task in the best situations)
the man strides along and picks up
his son, nuzzles his face into the boy’s
curly brown hair and hugs him tight
no words are exchanged between
the man and his wife, all it takes
is a look and a kiss
a happy family, idyllic as
the wheat fields in summer
the night moves on, the boy takes
his bath and is tucked into bed
an exhausted couple take a
well-deserved break on the couch
his arm around his beautiful wife
his hand resting on her pouting belly
“I love you,” he whispers in her ear
like a flash flood she jumps up
“oh Jesus, it’s time! It’s time!”
it was a well-rehearsed plan
grab shoes and coats, wake the boy
flying down the yellow lines of
the freeway to the hospital
he can tell something’s wrong
the nurses won’t look him in the eye
the doctor takes the man aside
“there’s been a complication”
four words no man wants to hear
proceed with the birth, she dies
wait any longer, the baby dies
a decision must be made
thank god I woke up.

MSBQ