The Mansion She Inherited
she lives in a mobile mansion
inherited from Hopis in New Mexico
built with sugar cane and cinnamon
decorated with yellow flyers
hanging all over the wall in the dining room
blue stairs are one-way only toward Sirius
green, two-lane highway toward Orion
the curtain, knitted from butterflies’ dream in cocoon
windows open to the scent of Chaparral
she irrigates the field with a cup of coffee
filled with organic memories of her ancestors
non-GMO flowers growing in the backyard
are the only weeds she needs to crop
Rootless
I saw a man
stood still on the edge
of the George Washington bridge.
His feet rooted into the river
and his hands offered birds
a resting nest but the man
was just a man and the bird,
just a bird. His roots,
taken away by the stream
and birds weren’t patient
until the spring ushered.
Garden…
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