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HABITUAL
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My left hand reaches the doorknob, my right flicks the light switch then pushes the flat screen door handle. The door opens just wider than the dog's black body. Thousands of times it's opened, thousands of times she's returned, and only now I've noticed her slick black body between frame and door, the position of her head, the quickness of the act, the honesty of the moment.
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FIRE
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what beast is this who knows fire and draws light from wood not just his knowing breath on embers gentle as a father asking answers of his newborn yet nearly free licks flickers tongues fingers all whisper draw near beast surrender! And every beast ancient and new cries inward relinquishes submits to wonder
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| Nebraska Center for Writers |
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COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS
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we smile the small apologetic shrug smile that happens between strangers it’s brief but time-mysterious we witness a pale penance to each other sorry for the sins of all dear losers messy souls who break a birded wing the twig it flies to the earth it birthed from we concur with nodding minds to hope for a new fish to crawl from the sea evolve with less greed and more peace
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BLESS 'EM
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When Americans pray to Mary Mother of God she looks over her shoulder to see if God is near because Americans bless ‘em take God everywhere they go on car bumpers into other countries like Pilgrims who brought God to a savage land natives didn’t know the God-Bless-America-God wasn’t with them yet Mary tucks a gun in the folds of her gown these days there’s something that creeps her out about these God-loving Americans
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