Collective Nouns

I wrote a letter full of anger.
Another full of rain.
One on black paper to a
snow angel I made when I was five.

This flock of words migrates,
inverted vees like arrows
leaving their target and flying
backward toward the one

who arches. I am an
archipelago of bodies.
Some like the way you
touch me. Others

flood with relief
when you sleep late.
I closed the door against
the sun, left my keys

behind. Cherries bloom
brown on the sidewalk.
Too much of any good thing
just becomes a deterrent

to arriving with clean soles.
I don’t want to pluralize
this; you are your own entity.

There is no word to say
you and you and you
and have it mean all of
the yous you were.

Sometimes it is
verbs that fail me.
Other times
people places things.


Back of the Envelope

Image taken with iPhone while writing.
Words written in the sunshine.
Ears On the spray of the fountain in the plaza,
Time Taken five minutes.
Brain On running away.

This entry was published on July 7, 2012 at 3:34 pm and is filed under July, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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