Waiting for a Friend at the Diner

In the circle of
voices many layered
a void
of course

To the rattle of
dishes
clatter of steel
mind flattened
at the source.

***

I really do write most of my poetry on napkins while waiting for friends. If she had not arrived so soon, this would have been longer.

Advice From the Dream Guide on Breaking Through

Know where I’m going
my sense of last night
dream language
like getting pregnant, or want
underpinning what’s left
a social drive
thing that could
kiss someone
connect or deeply
procreate.

The sense of dreaming
the sense of having
my guides so close
wise beyond

I asked this morning
do you think
In terms of
back or forward
they laughed
you’re kidding
you’re asking us?
that’s who you are
that’s what you do

No going back
no worrying
very comforted

before I left
someone poked his head
admiring the photo
I said I painted
I need
do you have time
you’re here
there’s always
from my dream
the details

Break through
and finish
fix it
do a new
start a new
if what I’m doing
I can read through
and send it
I can edit
and send that
I can finish
or whatever
and publish
and whatever
who I am.

***
This is an experimental poem, using a technique whereby you write anything that comes to mind for five minutes, then stop and lift a phrase every few words or so and work into a poem.

In the Cover of Snow

Like a mother
Blanketing her child
The snow fell
Over cars, houses, streets
Buildings where workers
Packed up their belongings
And trudged to their cars

Day after day the snow came
And when I woke the cars
Were not visible
Except as mounds
Like soft animals in slumber
All along Queensberry Street

Eric and I wrapped up warmly
And got the dogs
Corn and Blue
Their Beagle noses questing
Toward the outside
Where excitement always happened
Whether they created it or not

The whir of helicopters overhead
But otherwise the quiet
Buried under snow
The tops of street lamps showing
We made our way to the street
And walked, the dogs our companions

We saw some students on their skis
Whizzing by the empty streets
Laughter was in the air
Those few of us out for a stroll
Over mounds of hard packed snow
The dogs had visions of pizza
In their heads but even the garbage
Was buried

At last we reached Chinatown
My legs were tired
Feet were frozen
Laughter silenced by the trek
Eric never got tired
Fueled by methadone
And he stopped to watch
The dragon dance in the street
Because it was Chinese New Year
Of the Horse

And one café was open
Offering free dim sum to
Anyone hardy enough to be out
Cooked over Bunsen burners
Because all electricity would be
Out for two more days

We tipped them (I tipped them
Because Eric never had any money)
And then went out and bought
A dozen white candles
And a comic book for Miles
Who was visiting his grandparents
In Connecticut

And finally, back in the Fens, it
Was late afternoon and we took
The candles over to the old folks
Across the street where the
Famous radical pacifist lived
Who always wore a wool cap
A Sandown cap
That made him look rakish
Belying his compassionate heart

And we gave the candles to
The old woman who lived upstairs
And asked her to share with her
Neighbor in Apartment #1 who
Was deaf and never let anybody in
When they pressed the buzzer

That night the helicopters were gone
And even the dogs snored quietly
In the silence of the city
Under the blanket of snow.

***

(Poem based on the Blizzard of 1978 in Boston.)