New Year’s Eve: Beebe, Arkansas

​
After the party, we reeled laughing
down the dark street, back beat
thrumming our bones.
Wine and pot gilded each gesture
with genius under the slit of moon.
You waved the red flag of a G-string
given by the hostess to celebrate
the new year. At midnight
fireworks boomed and then
the rain of blackbirds began,
bouncing off cars and rooftops,
the litter of days laid out
before us.

(from Waving Back, published by Turning Point, 2015)


​
Listen


What if we stopped tweeting
and texting and started listening
to the dead. Put your ear next to
the screen where night air
blows in, under the chair
where dust gathers, inside
a milkweed pod before it bursts
and scatters. Listen
for what to pick up and what to lay
down, what to begin and what to end,
who to follow or abandon. At first
you may not recognize voices
stripped of pride and doubt,
speaking in tongues and ringing
like morning bells because
at last, they have nothing
to lose.

(from Waving Back, published by Turning Point, 2015)