Tag Archives: presence

Touching the Heart Mind

I finished work early today,
walked out of the office
I built in my barn
into a cool afternoon.

I took the clippers from the
upstairs linen closet and
cut my hair with the shortest blade.

There were still a few errands to run
before I came to sit here in our kitchen,
distracted by house sounds and
typing out a home-leaving poem
for sesshin,

where I’ll sit with the sangha,
alone together
under autumn skies.

Lazy Ovals

I’ve scolded my son for riding
the old green bike
(the one with training wheels that used to be his)
when he runs to get it before his little brother can,
riding it gleefully away from him.

Today, though, his brother wasn’t home;
so he pedaled slowly
around the driveway, pulled gently
at the duct-taped edge of the handle
as he rode.
I heard him talking softly to himself and
humming as he made lazy ovals
in the bright sunshine.

He kept going
until his sister called to him from the porch,
asked him what he was doing.

I heard the first words of the story
he began to make up,
then turned away so I wouldn’t
hear the end.

Streaked and Spotted

The kitchen window is streaked and spotted
on the outside from months-gone
summer rains.

The air has since turned frigid;
small birds flit & dance on the barren bush
just beyond the sill.

Inside, I stand resting
in the sun that streams through
just above the old porcelain sink.

The dishes there are finished
and last wisps of steam rise;
the children are occupied with holiday gifts

as I forget for a moment
that it isn’t all right.

Another notebook fragment from December finally coalesces.

Keep Me Company

Winter’s early cold has gathered
steam against the windows,
softening the lights’ reflection.

Standing in the doorway,
I strain above the hum of the dryer
to hear my son
as he narrates his play by whisper
in the old claw foot bathtub.

I should be helping him,
but he hasn’t noticed me there,
and the teacup is warm in my hands.

Finally he stills and calls to me — Dad?
I thought you were going to keep me company?

Of course I am.
Of course I am.

At the Small Table

When I catalogue my regrets
at the end of the day,
I won’t include the moments we spent sitting
at the small table in the living room.

The old-fashioned fire whistle,
remnant of summoning volunteers
across the town,
punctured our long silence —

you picked up your head only briefly
from the sea-blue magic marker
before returning to your work,
tongue pressed in concentration
against your cheek.

We laughed gently about
a pair of dogs we could see
through the window
and across the street
jostling in the slanted afternoon sun.

You asked me not to leave —
yet there was never any chance;
my movement only a reach to the floor
for the morning’s leftover mug and a
sip of luke-warm coffee.

Tanka #9

rough stones and moss
made slick by humid air
gather fallen leaves —
unsure footsteps and silence
grace summer’s indecision

I have typically posted tanka accompanied, and inspired, by an photograph. The image here is in my mind only, placed there on a late summer, quiet afternoon walk through the woods, unaccompanied by my camera or technology of any sort. I was disappointed at first not to be able to capture the moment…yet the words can do it justice, and the feat is unattainable in any event.