1. Semiquincentennial
I woke to find the big tree down,
the maple I had hung from as a child
on whose branches I’d assumed
my daughter’s daughters would swing free.
There was no storm. I had not heard
a crack, and yet I woke to find
the big tree down—its splintered trunk
two maws with ragged, jagged snaggleteeth
each snarling at the other side. I ran
my hand along the rough, ripped-open stump,
counting two hundred fifty rings. At least
it didn’t fall on your house! a neighbor called,
and yes, I thought, though as I looked around,
the other maples seemed to stand
a little stiffer then, as in a small brigade
of mute and faceless men so brittle
they will break in any wind that blows.
2. Old Friend
If we met now, I’d never be your friend.
We don’t talk politics or culture war
(there is no common ground to ferret for),
and when we’re out together, I pretend
to be oblivious as you offend
my favorite worker at my favorite store.
No, I don’t reprimand you anymore.
I think you come off worse than you intend.
You were the only one to call the day
I came home from the hospital, from Mother,
and you remembered how she used to sing
La Sonnambula, how she’d loved ballet.
I asked if we could visit one another.
You said, “I’ll come to you, what shall I bring?”
3. You Ask Me What It Is to Be Here Now, I Say
the show must go on, though
the audience disintegrates
into a rowdy crowd, shoving,
cussing, standing on the velvet seats;
the actors keep reciting lines until
the roar absorbs their voices, then
it’s every villain for himself—
the Pantalone on crutches beats it
to the wings, the mother leaves
the child to the wrangler,
and once again my tender disbelief is un-
suspended, cut from rafters, clunked
down on the boards, is what
I say it is to be here now.
4. Ctenophora
Punch-pink jelly bodybulb
pulses through the velvet deep,
more sentient than a sponge.
She seeks another just like her,
a trail of tiny twinkling lights
threaded through his cilia,
glowing lonely as an all-night
dive bar Christmas Eve.
She has her wound, he has his.
They press their gashes up against
each other—call it mating, call it
something else—two bodies
fuse for life, become one nervous
system, two astonished mouths.
