REST STOP FOR THE LONG HAUL
WAS THE DAY LONG?
AT A STOP ON THE WAY,
HOW DOES THE MORNING MEDITATION
YIELD TO THE SILENCE OF THE EVENING?
for the poet Kathleene West rejoining her twin sister
You, my poet friend, Kathleene (with an e) West died July 7, 2013.
I knew you first from your poems and then in your person.
When we were young and later.
Best in letters and poems where there could be no pretense.
But this is my favorite from four decades past.
I was a young poet and a giddy father of twin daughters.
You wrote that poem that broke my heart,
To My Twin Sister Who Died At Birth.
"I’m a father of twins," I said.
"Oh, Jim, I made that poem up", you said.
It is August and April at the same time, Kathleene.
Today you’ve been with your sister for nine months.
I’ve been looking for you all day in four different notebooks.
With your poems, twin survivors.
August, 2013--4 April 2014
POEM WRITTEN IN MY TELEPHONE AT HIGH CAMP
Ski to office with Katleene’s plains
poems. Taking her test,
the test inside her poem,
Answering with two thumbs.
Not doing very well at all.
Have I cut the cane?
In-deed. Cortaba maize
por mano. This is to determine
if I’m a tourist of the Revolution.
Have I skipped the temple of Poetry
in favor of the museum of war.
One tough poem.
One loving poet.
My office at High Camp sits at 6,000 feet.
I just finished a left-over Luna
nutrition bar for women.
Minutes earlier in snow storm
handing Satsuma orange
to the ski patroller coming from snow hut
I yell, Sculpted snow!
And he thanks me for the orange
with the word, Sustrugi, he learned
the Russian word from Bulgarians.
12 December 2012