last days of nursing school

we have spent many hours

sitting together quietly

facing the same direction

we will go our separate ways

go on to other things

perhaps go on to face

groups like ours, sitting quietly

facing the same direction

finishing the last days of nursing school

for a moment

i will remember the fragments

that make up the little skips and hops

down our path

tracing like the electrical activity of an ecg

crossing the baseline, notched, tall and peaked

inverted

there were the early days

arriving in the dark

the hospital looming down

the workers pouring in

we, with our papers, our namebadge

newly scrubbed

our stethoscope and apprehension

there were exams

some performed like on a stage

clipboard held and marked by our audience

we imagined life in our dummy patients

real blood in the fake arms, fake veins

being watched as we watched the drips falling

in the little chamber

most exams written out

answer marked with dark silver circles

a pattern of full moons

scenarios and situations

the vitals

and the best reply was never the best reply

the a, b, c, d, and sometimes e

discernment on the acronyms

had we been accountants

i might not feel the same sentimentality

but we will go on

to clean up body fluids of all types

of those to weak to it for themselves

we will go on

to hold the hands of the dying

we will be there for trauma, delirium, delusion, detox

we will try solve disparities

to teach what to eat and how to feed

we will know pain, its scale

we will go on

to hold the tiniest babies and boost giant men

marvel at resilience and document joy

we will care for people

these are the last days of nursing school

an end that brings career, license, profession

and i think i’m ready

there were the days

when there were those moments

of clarity

and knowing, this is it

the right resistance felt

the signs of infiltration

of recognizing comfort brought by the right words

riding the wave instead of being crushed as it breaks

we will go on

after these last days

to find work, find our way wherever

so, thanks for the hand along the way

with setting up my sterile field

for inspiration

to finish

bass

the other evening
we had one of those quiet husband-and-wife scenes
the two of us sitting up in bed
with our backs against the wall
at the end of a long day
we might have been talking about our mothers
or if we could take that next vacation

the window was between us
at the head of the bed
and abruptly the sash started to shudder
the pane within its stile
low and long, then stop and repeat
at a different pitch, one audible to the human ear
we could hear the low rumbling of bass

this was the sound of music or something of that ilk
coming from an unseen car or truck
which had turned down our street
driven along 4th avenue like a mobile earthquake
like the rumbling of a giant’s digestive track
someone had chosen, and carefully set up
this roving, rumbling distraction
someone who waited at the red light

i imagined him there in the drivers seat
and i wanted him to have in his head
the picture of us up in our bed
discussing what ever it was
i wished for him to see me casually
place a finger against the pane
to quiet the rattle and buzz
and without missing a beat, continue
yeah, a vacation would be nice

as needed as sleep

her hand was on my hip
this morning
when i awoke

it was the type of morning where
neither of us had to spring up from bed
it was not yet the weather where
one hand is too hot, too sweaty to touch

her hand seemed to tell me
with a little whisper in my sleeping ear
that this is how it is to be
the two of us together
it said, i was as needed as sleep

haha

when written
and posted somewhere
in the digital world
the alternating h and a
do nothing to convey mirth
and the joy of laughter
it is more like two rapid coughs
or the sound made
when someone unsuspecting
is struck squarely in the gut
by an errant object
air rushes up
the wind is knocked out

springing ahead in the recession

suddenly,
winter’s slow decline
is hastened by our legislative bodies
by a collective act of pressing a few buttons
turning a dial just a hair
before bed or in the morning to catch up

the afternoon extends
shooting up like a child’s growth
after some time away
sped up like a video in fast forward
the light lingers and its presence
is offputting, leaving one with the feeling
of something forgotten
of wool being softly and slowly
pulled over eyes

all this is the here today gone tomorrow falsity
it is the ending of the story you are told that you don’t believe
it is the magic show trick revealed, the false back, the secret hinge

we are springing forward
the light is only minutes longer
we just quicken our step
change our answer when someone asks
if we have the time
it is artificiality in our march toward the joy of summer

suddenly,
the talk on the streets
the niceties between strangers
have come to include the gloom of financial markets
the dropping of numbers in indexes
our mosquito media is swarming
landing on stories, rubbing the long thin legs together
inserting their mouthpieces
finding chicken littles
creating them with headlines and on scene reporting
Another Sky Falls Today

i don’t understand
the idea of everything changing over night
i sit and watch the clouds roll over
and they move with the same grace as always
the land they move over is blown by the same wind
the temperature fluctuates with the same uncertainty
it may be the fear
the talk of the uncertain future
as if it has been anything but
there is a shaking inside when they talk
there is an irritating tendency to talk about
our return to values, a reexamination of habits, some change
that wasn’t there last night, last week
wasn’t there when banks and spirits were high


i hate being told to be scared
or the hinting and implication
that fear should be my reaction

it is a tough time to be
a tough time for spring to come
to lose an hour or an investment

you, writer

i mean no disrespect
when i say
you were wrong about the blue hydrangeas

instead, nearby, early spring light falls
in bright shapes of squares on my thick library table

there are quiet sounds surrounding me
the rainfall click of keyboard strokes
soft voices speaking somali
beeps of borrowed materials and their being checked out

this carnegie library keeps out the louder city beyond
it is a mixing in public

i found your book of poems in this small library
where i could probably count the shelves easily

i sit down and read this day

this day
where all i've done
is walk green central park with henry on leash

make a trip to drop some post
old fashioned thanks yous written out in pen

i have avoided the work that puts the finishing touches
on my nursing degree
in favor of daydreams and coffee
heating up a lunch of leftover lasagna

thoughts of riding a small motorbike
down roads following a river
to the edge of something and then turning back

to finish up sitting on the porch
dusting the leaves of houseplants
of which i am caretaking

sometime i'll get to entering the results
of the learning assesment/the knowledge deficit tool

but before, i may read another of your poems
think back to your description of the salt and pepper shakers
and about how we are both known and unknown
yet here we are again, mr. billy collins, this time in my poem
you with your bowl of pears, me with a stack of homework
your name with it's double lls and mine always just l

you, salt. still walking on your sea of water
me, perhaps pepper. sneezing loudly in this quiet place

repose

this poem is just like the last one
the words that end this poem will be different
the end will be the same

i picture books on a bookshelf
with the spines facing away
from this angle the pages may be blank

i picture eyes following this line
and then stopping here
i imagine this is a good place to stop
for anyone reading this aloud

someone will choose now
to look away
some will not choose

it is a shame
it seemed were the words I had to say
as I left the room
pulling the door closed slowly
hearing the catch of the latch

i picture this moment
it will end just like the last one
i see myself in repose, dogs at my feet
in this darkened living room