There's Always the Guy

There's always the guy
At pub closings
Mall food courts
Wedding dinners.

He wants to sit you down
Straighten you out.
Tell you how things work.
You have it all wrong, you see.
He laughs in your face.

You listen
Because it's late, or it's early,
You have nowhere to go
And no one waiting.

His oldest kid is 27, hasn't seen him in years,
but good riddance.
And three exes, somewhere.
Hey, where do you think you're going?
He's yelling at your back.

Wait: Let me tell you about love.

Tricia McCollum, goodreads.com April 20, 2012 

Trust

It’s like so many other things in life
to which you must say no or yes.
So you take your car to the new mechanic.
Sometimes the best thing to do is trust.

The package left with the disreputable-looking
clerk, the check gulped by the night deposit,
the envelope passed by dozens of strangers—
all show up at their intended destinations.

The theft that could have happened doesn’t.
Wind finally gets where it was going
through the snowy trees, and the river, even
when frozen, arrives at the right place.

And sometimes you sense how faithfully your life
is delivered, even though you can’t read the address.

Thomas R. Smith, goingtowalden.com November 3, 2021 

The Changed Man

If you were to hear me imitating Pavarotti
in the shower every morning, you'd know
how much you have changed my life.

If you were to see me stride across the park,
waving to strangers, then you would know
I am a changed man—like Scrooge

awakened from his bad dreams feeling feather-
light, angel-happy, laughing the father
of a long line of bright laughs—

"It is still not too late to change my life!"
It is changed. Me, who felt short-changed.
Because of you I no longer hate my body.

Because of you I buy new clothes.
Because of you I'm a warrior of joy.
Because of you and me. Drop by

this Saturday morning and discover me
fiercely pulling weeds gladly, dedicated
as a born-again gardener.

Drop by on Sunday—I'll Turtlewax
your sky-blue sports car, no sweat. I'll greet
enemies with a handshake, forgive debtors

with a papal largesse. It's all because
of you. Because of you and me,
I've become one changed man.

Robert Phillips, Spinach Days (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000) 

Missa in tempore belli (Mass in Time of War)

1. Kyrie

Lord, have mercy on us,
if You are for us, who can be against us?
Christ, have mercy on us,
especially if our hours are numbered.
Lord, have mercy on us,
especially in days of war
Kyrie eleison.
Christe eleison
Kyrie eleison

5. Benedictus

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord in a glorious
and frightening time, a time of troubles, a time of war,
blessed are those who walk row by row, each one shall be a hero,
salvos three and into the ground they go.
And once again — Hosannah in the highest! Hosannah on high!
The further into battle, the fewer heroes left behind.

6. Agnus

Lamb of God, who has freed all people from deadly snares,
Lamb of God, who has borne the immeasurable weight of our sins,
Lamb of God, who has counted and pardoned every fall,
Lamb of God, have mercy on us all.
Lamb of God, Son of the Father, Light from true Light,
Lamb of God, Savior of constellations, planets and stars in the sky,
Lamb of God, who crown your iconostasis,
Lamb of God, have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, little lamb lain on the altar,
a time of war has come. Cinders rise from the earth.
Grant us peace, we are sated with eternal fire.
They say, “We’re starting a war again.”
Dona nobis pacem. Amen.

Boris Khersonsky, trans. from Russian by Martha M. F. Kelly, ("Los

Angeles Times Review of Books" February 27, 2022) 

Resistance

It’s war again: a family
   carries its family out of a pranged house
      under a burning thatch.

The next scene smacks
   of archive newsreel: platforms and trains
      (never again, never again),

toddlers passed
   over heads and shoulders, lifetimes stowed
      in luggage racks.

It’s war again: unmistakable smoke
   on the near horizon mistaken
      for thick fog. Fingers crossed.

An old blue tractor
   tows an armoured tank
      into no-man’s land.

It’s the ceasefire hour: godspeed the columns
   of winter coats and fur-lined hoods,
      the high-wire walk

over buckled bridges
   managing cases and bags,
      balancing west and east - godspeed.

It’s war again: the woman in black
   gives sunflower seeds to the soldier, insists
      his marrow will nourish

the national flower. In dreams
   let bullets be birds, let cluster bombs
      burst into flocks.

False news is news
   with the pity
      edited out. It’s war again:

an air-raid siren can’t fully mute
   the cathedral bells –
      let’s call that hope.

Simon Armitage, “The Guardian” March 11, 2022

Bird

For days now a red-breasted bird
has been trying to break in.
She tests a low branch, violet blossoms
swaying beside her, leaps into the air and flies
straight at my window, beak and breast
held back, claws raking the pane.
Maybe she longs for the tree she sees
reflected in the glass, but I’m only guessing.
I watch until she gives up and swoops off.
I wait for her return, the familiar
click, swoosh, thump of her. I sip cold coffee
and scan the room, trying to see it new,
through the eyes of a bird. Nothing has changed.
Books piled in a corner, coats hooked
over chair backs, paper plates, a cup
half-filled with sour milk.
The children are in school. The man is at work.
I’m alone with dead roses in a jam jar.
What do I have that she could want enough
to risk such failure, again and again?

Dorianne Laux, Awake (Carnegie Mellon Press, 1990)

Instruction Manuel for My Future Husband

I was raised on Disney movies, the princess ones

that always end with a wedding. I don’t know
what comes next, but I’ve been told
it’s happily ever after. I’m expecting a prince
who can dance and ride a horse and is good
with a sword. You will disappoint me.

Even if you can dance and ride
a horse and are good with a sword.
Don’t despair. Life is full of disappointments.
Try as you might to slay dragons or ogres,
avoid the evil stepmother or wicked witch,
I will cry. You won’t know why.

You won’t be able to fix me. But you
should still try. I will resent you for trying.
I will tell you I’m not a blender or a car
or one of the kids’ toys you can patch up
over the weekend. But I’ll resent you
even more if you don’t try. So, try.

You can buy flowers. Or chocolate.
Or wine. All of these are nice, and none
of these will work. Vain attempts to scale
a mountain you know nothing about.
Terrain here is dangerous; one wrong step
and off the ledge you go to your death.

You’ll wonder if I am worth dying for,
and what your ex is up to these days.
You will be confused. You will try
to recall everything your mother ever
taught you. You’ll wish you had a magic
wand. You’ll want to give up. Don’t.

Don’t waste your energy trying to solve
the troll’s riddle so you can pass safely.
There’s no safe passage in love. Every
path is a snow bridge. Think of me
as a woman in pieces, a puzzle with no
picture on the box. Start with the edges.

Marissa Glover, moriaonline.com, April 26, 2021