The fall of the petals from fruit trees in blossom. A girl has hurt herself in the school bathroom. This is the time of year for self-hurt, for the blossoming of blood. We have children by another and then they are hurt by their own hand. Those were the days I walked, thinking overpasses. The man I see walking the shoulder of Kahekili one day asked me for a cup of coffee. I saw him yesterday on a side street, carrying a plastic bag. Moving is existing. We exist insofar as we walk. My Chinese student asked what I meant by “knock your socks off.” When asked to tell a lie I said I saw holes in the older poet's socks. How could that not be true? The man by the road wears broken slippers. We cannot walk ourselves whole. Time is poison and preservative. There are holes in the old film. Someone was walking, but she stepped off.
3 months ago