No Hiding Place
(after John L. Stanizzi's "So Jah Seh" in the November 2015 issue of Verse-Virtual)

"There ain't no hiding place from the Father of Creation."
                                                                       - Bob Marley
 
Tradition tells me I cannot perfect my faith
by confining myself to a cell for prayer
and meditation, it says I must remain in touch
with the remainder of creation if I hope
for further growth. Often, I imagine I'd prefer
alone, a silence interrupted only by a kettle's
singing, a poem written from begin to end
without a ringing phone, an email, a person
standing next to me with something they'd
like to have me see. But the Beloved's known
for veils and disguises, is known for using
the most unlikely messengers, and each morning
the dog awakens me before the dawn to walk,
three hours physical therapy required daily,
and I wonder if she is my muezzin, calling
in the dark that it is time for prayers.




Smile (Who’s the Fairest?)


2010, back home again
after the last helicopter
air evac to the emergency.

First morning and I’m
starting over, walking
practice reset, start out

with a distance target
of a long, long thirty
feet. A neighbor on her

way to work before
six AM pulls over, gets
out, comes up and asks

how I am doing. I stop
and sit, smile, say: Still
practicing my walking.

She leans down, peers
at my face. Did you 
have another stroke?

It’s rural, rumors
travel quickly on 
the creek. I ask:

who told you? She
says: Really? When?
I hadn’t heard it,

I only asked
because the left
side of your mouth

looks sort of stuck,
it doesn’t turn up when
you smile.

Really? It happened
yesterday. I guess I 
haven’t actually

looked

in a mirror
yet. She pulls a rag out
of her pocket, dabs

the spittle off my
cheek. You’re sort
of drooling. 

When you do
look in the mirror,

don’t freak out.





Smile (Two Steps Back)


I’m sitting on the porch on break
from walking back and forth.
He’s working in the yard, stops
and asks me what I’m doing.

An experiment. I’m visualizing.
I’m time-traveling through 
history, I’m going back to the 15th
century to find da Vinci. 

When I get there, I’ll pretend
I’m sitting for a portrait that he’s
painting. I’ll sit very quiet, very
still, and let him fix my smile.

Let’s see it then. I close my eyes
and smile best I can. Silence.
I grow impatient, ask:
Well, is it working?

Is my face even moving?

Actually, I think it is. I think it’s
helping, but you need to keep on
going. Right now you’re posing
for Picasso. Go back more.





Radiation Treatment

​
I watch the lizard
on the rock. I don’t
like to think of myself
in any way reptilian,
cold, instinctual.
Still, I suppose
I must admit some kinship,

not-too-distant
cousinhood at minimum.

Here we sit, semi-
together, exchanging
occasional chilly
glances, both waiting
for the sun to rise
so we can move,
indifferent to each 
other but both
entirely dependent.

He waits
for energizing warmth.
I require motivating

grace.



​

Embracing the Lizard-Brain


The lizard isn’t much
to look at, not one
of the ones
with orange throat
or bright blue belly 
just sort of ordinary
green.

He showed up today
without his tail.

I cannot keep
from smiling
at his cold-blooded
indifference
to his loss.

It will grow back.
Or not.

I suspect
he’ll make a full
recovery, 

and he will make it
mostly
because he’s
not advanced,

he is too ignorant
to understand
that it’s


statistically
improbable,

he occupies
too low a rung
to get that it’s
impossible,

it does not occur
to him to doubt.

And yet, somehow, 
somehow in this, 

without any
real notice, 

I became

magical.

Miracles happen,
and we let them

because we don’t
know
any better,

when we just become
too dumb
to realize

they can’t.