Chimes

Wind on metals,

a match made 

in heaven,

a sound fluent 

in sorrow and joy, 

each note 

a simple spirit

that tows me 

from my self 

into the eye 

of a storm, 

a center, free, 

no agitation; 

whatever I do, 

wherever I stand, 

the ting ting ting 

brings me to a pause;

my crouching soul 

stands up 

and bows to it,

feels each note 

enter as a kind word, 

feels the ting ting ting 

of grace, 

the ting ting ting 

of blessing 

come over me.  

I say, gather me 

and ting to me 

and seal me up. 

Counting the damage

What if I forget him?

What if he blurs like a good vacation?

Already I have to concentrate, piece him 

together as a puzzle, matching the bits into familiar

body parts--his swollen knee, wrist with
fancy watch, lips pinched into a trumpet.   

What if the pieces tatter? 

Stop fitting? 

What if one day I can’t recall 

but a moment? 

Already a hush settles into every crevice 

as if stillness were normal in our house.

Already I have grown used to having 
no one in love with me.

I frame photos with the breath of panic,

mail his face to everyone.

I will not count his memory

among all the other damage.

Threads

Widows:

Don’t turn away 

from the mirror. 

Keep looking 

at what you’re made of--cloth strong 

enough to be a flag and don’t forget 

he loved you 

for your spine 

that’s not crocheted but woven 

tight as burlap

and because your heart is spun 

of silk, 

its long threads pulled 

from countless other acts 

of metamorphoses.

How to remember

For quality memories, first blanche them; 

the dirt will ruin all. 

Peel off the shade before storage. 

Like the day you played hooky 

with a married old professor.

Keep only his grateful kisses,

how tenderly he squeezed your hand goodbye. 

Store only drops of joy, hold on 

to the sweet seeds and juice. 

Memories can be chopped up any way you like; 

almost none can be kept whole. 

So stick with the best parts, the parts least 

bruised and spoiled, snip what lacks the flavor 

of happy recollections. 

I can tell you that grief and other passions 

loosen the tough skins of bitter times––they slip 

off easily. Let the pealed memories cool 

then store them in your heart's larder. 

When you’re ready, behold this delicious jam, 

savor it for the rest of your days.