166. Lost for Words

For a moment, I think the poem
is locked in my aching fingers,
trapped behind my stiff wrists,
like a butterfly under a glass,
the beauty is there but I can't touch,
can't pull it close and put it into words.

My mind is an eddy of numbers,
equations,
processes,
swirling without an end
or even a beginning,

but I see the way the light plays
on an empty beer bottle,
how the birds in the ponds
look like the ants at my feet,
the way a smile grows slowly
and makes your face softer.

Like I tip the glass so carefully
the butterfly can climb on fingers
and I can touch something beautiful,
even if I can't put the day into words.

Grass in Karratha

In this town where the limited water
supply confines the residential sprawl,
grass is an extravagance and a waste.
Sprinklers run on timers in some yards,
but the soft spray sound is uncommon.
We pull or trim weeds and tall grasses
as soon as the rains end for the year,
because they'll lose their green hue
for a rattling golden-brown tinge,
and the grasses hide snakes, rats,
spiders, and other deadly creatures.

After the fair, I ask him if he enjoyed it--
the large roaring rides, the food stands,
the small art collection, the people--
and he says, "I liked sitting in the grass."

The Beard Trim

A break in the middle of the day:
the chair yanked away from the desk
to sit in the bathroom above the drain
in the textured linoleum floor.
The razor hums and rattles faintly
in my hands as I ask for reassurances,
admit that I've never trimmed a beard.
But I slice through hairs, letting them fall,
as the pattern begins to take shape
and I have to stop because laughter
makes my hands jerk and shake.
Later, when the designs have been cut
clean, we look at the photographs
and start laughing all over again.

Definition of A Perfect Day

A Perfect Day [noun]:
laughter, games, writing, baseball,
and a grand breakfast.

The White Backside

We round the bend on the trail,

watching our shoes on the uneven

dirt path covered with large rocks.

The eucalyptus trees rustles to our left 

and we have just a moment to spot

the bright white backside of a bull

its horns curling out from either side

of its bulk as it runs through the grove

with surprising speed and nervousness

for an animal so much larger than we.

Home Remedies

He looks at me like I'm crazy
as I crouch over the stained
and wavy linoleum. My cup
is filled with water and vinegar
as I trace over the scent trails
the ants follow to the sweets
that I didn't remember.
I sweep the rag down the walls,
around the cabinets, methodically
herding the ants to the door
without crushing them.

He starts to laugh as I climb
onto the desk to reach
the molding around the ceiling
that they use as a highway
to do laps around the room.

He asks if maybe I'm paranoid
when I sprinkle cinnamon
across the threshold to the bathroom
and at the frame of the entryway
where they slip inside and reappear
at the top of the door.

They've outsmarted me three times,
I tell him. I won't underestimate
their cunning and courage anymore.

A Haiku for a Hot Day

The wind has died back

to the barest brush of air

between our fingers.