Poem: Stackabones

[I started this poem 21 years ago in Berkeley, California, the week before my daughter was born. I finished it tonight, in Irvine, California]


Stackabones

for Claire

"What is it?," you'll ask, and I'll hedge.
Things with no title aren't,

So make a name. Our dreams have no lexicon.
We'll look at wildflowers

In the chapparal and fill the silence
Around the blossoms with a name.

Waiting on you to be,
I try to remember not to forget.

In a dusty corner of my head
I've opened files with Websters of words,

Waiting on you to be.
We'll cover the earth with Venn Diagrams

Of our steps bisecting the old steps.
We'll breach the barricades

And walk circles from here to here.
The wheel itself rolls flat

And you can't slow it down;
With each spin of the ball it grows flatter,

But still rolls up and down the hill.
The list of whom the bucket was kicked by

Grows longer every day
And that bucket fills with tears.

Our job is to stay off that roster.
Back to the story.

God, gets the fire going
As She spins us back into the sun

To warm us up in the morning.
The sun didn't rise today,

But the sun doesn't rise.
The last cricket falls asleep,

And the birds begin their rounds.
Earth rolls over like a dog,

And the light
Floods in.
---o0o---