A planted seed is
     buried alive,
     and left to die.

Life planted as seeds
     must bring death
     for life to sprout––

               through the dirty grave,
               treading the waters,
               grasping for sunshine,
                         basking in its warmth,
                         living in its life.


Safari Symphony

Safari Symphony

“Pjevaš kao da ti je slon prdnuo u uho.”

“You sing like an elephant farted in your ear.”


There’s rhythm to a stampede:
the rumble, the thunder,
the booming percussion
of ten-ton gray hooves
pounding the dust as timpani.

There’s melody to the call:
the serpentine trumpet sounding
warnings or wooings
that beckon or frighten—
the savannah’s brass.

Not you.

The southbound tuba
of a northbound elephant
percusses its own melody,
and in your ears—
yours alone

it’s music.


NaPoWriMo #22

Following Instructions

Following Instructions

A response to Ada Limón’s “Instructions on Not Giving Up”

Sleet scarred the bark and bent the branches,
and even with the greening over, I feel the weakness
of the not-quite-broken straining. Regrown branches
and high-fiving leaves scramble against the brittle bones
like toddlers climbing before they walk. When the April
storms rattle the green tambourines, it makes me wonder:
did I speak too soon? did I bite off more than I could chew?


April 2020 Poem-a-Day Challenge Countdown: T-Minus 3