In the Keeping

three poems

Photo by Cristina Marin on Unsplash

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In the Keeping


I'm scared of bees
and wasps and any

flying insect 
that I mistake

for a bee or wasp.
I'm allergic

to their venom.
I'm also scared

of the humans
whom I've mistaken

for friends. I can't
use the edge

of a credit card
to remove 

their stingers.
I can only wait

for the pain
to subside.

It doesn't subside.
It doesn't subside.

But I also think
of the people

whom I've stung.
An old therapist

once said to me,
"Sherman, all of us

are somebody's
worst memory." 

And I'm going
to guess that many

of you immediately 
thought of that one

person who remains
the most haunted 

by your ghost. Yeah,
you're still scratching

at their windows.
You're still the chill

draft in that certain
place in their home.

You're still the fog
rolling across their lawn.

Look up at the roof!
You and I are the hornet

nests in the eaves
and it's no coincidence 

that we're the exact
shape and size

as somebody else's
shuddering heart.




The Power Grid


My late father went to prison
twice before I was born.
The second time, while
working on electrical
equipment, he touched a live

wire that stopped his heart.
He always said that he saw
nothing while he was dead
and came back from the dark
to discover himself sprawled

on the ground while a fellow
prisoner repeatedly punched
him in the ribs and chest.
It was an improvised version
of CPR that somehow worked.

My father owed his life
to that nameless criminal 
with strong fists. I owe my life
to that same felon—to that thief
or murderer or something worse.

So, listen, I don't have time
for your theology, philosophy,
poetry, politics, and fiction
if they don't embrace all
of the eternal contradictions.




Introduction to Forestry


A tree still stands
after a lightning
strike. We still

stand after the storm.
It might appear
that we and the tree

have endured the worst
but peel back
the bark and you'll see

the flames of fear, need,
and doubt burning us 
from the inside out.

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