Poems are not like elephants
Or at least I don’t
Want them to be.
Soft and elegant as the elephant
Is, it’s too big. Too grey.
Poems, the ones I want, are
Here, now and to the point,
The difference in my step
when I know you love me
is a poem. That makes me
A poem. And a step. And I love
The love we share, you and I.
The Me in Us – oh, this is getting
Big. Not like the elephant,
But the color of one.
When I said elephant I think I meant horse
they can be close to the same color but
they take a very different course
just as I am with you
just as I am without you
like the horse in the field grazing
with the sky ahead and behind
you are here with me when you’re not
the rest is in my mind
Today let’s look inside and see what we see;
if I had the courage of red to give myself
I could wear the blue gown my mother
made for me when I was ten,
I could hold the stalk of hot iron
my father proffered me at eight,
my hands would grasp the knife of my
sister beside the spoon of my brother.
Would that make us a family?