Saturday, February 14, 2015

Skipping Steps

Skipping Steps

Today I caught myself--
As I ascended the stairs
To the second floor,
For that certain pen
I was sure I’d left up there
In my office
Yesterday, or was it 
The day before 
                 (Or Sunday?)—

Counting skipped steps as I 
Double climbed, 
Suddenly conscious that
I was doing this thing
I’d been doing throughout
My entire youth, my whole
Lifetime without thinking:
Unconsciously fearless:
Thoughtlessly.

Why, this day, need I pause?
Why wonder why?
And what about breathing?
Must I think about 
That too? Automatic, no?
And thinking? Heart?
What of reckless forging
Forward? Onward?
Yet Upward?

Then, with pen in hand,
It was there, I knew,
I descended more slowly
Than I ever had:
Foot before foot, careful.
Tight-holding the banister
That I don’t remember ever
Holding before:
Not falling.

Then, I remembered, now
Conscious of my
Forgetfulness, that I could
Not possibly write
This poem, unstructured
And sloppy as it is,
Without that pad of paper
Still on my desk,
Still upstairs.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Purple Orange, 1980

Purple Orange, 1980

I’ve never seen a purple orange
Or an orange grape.
But, I’d rather eat a purple orange
Than the stickiness
Of Scotch tape.

I’m really glad I’ve never seen
A purple orange
Or an orange grape.