pawing at the earth like naughty puppies
making sounds like gargling under water
seeing me shy like looking through my hair.
When I stay real still like the world comes into focus.
I wonder why I don’t sit in the grass more often.
How I miss girlfriends who talk of their favorite positions.
Or how we may speak of an old lover.
How we laugh at jokes made at our own expense.
When I stay real still like I exhale my shoulders down
pull my pelvis forward so I’m sitting up straight
tilt my head upwards towards the sky.
There’s a quiet. In my beats. In my not so stiff. In my jaw.
No tears to swallow. Or ears to bend.
No explanations needed or tissues.
No I’m not good enough or too emotional.
There’s even a quiet in the howling wind.
I’ve been to the Eiffel Tower. It’s quiet there.
I’ve been to Crater Lake and Mount Shasta too.
I’ve walked the Louve and the Getty and MOMA.
I’ve ice skated at Rockefeller ice skating ring
and hiked Haleakala.
I’ve visited Stone Henge, Monte Alban and Isla Mujeras.
I’ve walked from East Harlem to Midtown
to the Brooklyn bridge.
I’ve gotten lost in the Santa Monica mountains, the San Lucia mountains
and the walled city of Lucca.
I’ve sat on trains watching blurs go by.
Sat on planes watching clouds go by.
Sat on laps watching time go by.
I’ve kissed the ground in Cuba and spit in many a grave.
I’ve sat on tombstones, smoked cigarettes and drank wine.
I’ve prayed in my pillow, stirred the pot, waited on the doorstep.
I’ve stared at my husbands profile.
I’ve held my sleeping baby in my arms.
I’ve washed my fathers body.
I’ve put my forehead on my dying dog.
Staying real still and quiet like as my focus honed in.