Walking

I walk this hill of anger
one heartbeat at a time
a stranger to myself and others
I cannot tell if I’m climbing
or falling
I cannot see where I’m going
but my feet continue moving
and I am certain
that soon
I will reach my destination
not knowing what I will find
I walk this hill of anger
with the greatest reservation
knowing not
what I will find.

Flying

my son will be arriving at nine in the morning
he is fifteen, soon to be sixteen
he is tall and smart and good looking
and he is flying in from Utah
where he now lives with his mother
I grew up in Utah
I know the snows and the summer heat
and the Mormons and the mountains
and the big vistas leading off toward
the setting sun
I see it all clearly in my mind
where I first kissed a girl
where I walked my dogs
every night
where I would lie on my back
on the sidewalk
where the children would
cut through our yard going to school
and the moon rising
I see the huge weeping willow
and the rose bushes
and our black cat
sitting in the green grass
I see where my dog lies buried
the moss growing near the steps
I see it all
very clearly
but I do not see my son there
In my heart
I see him here
beside me
I never imagined him there
I never imagined life this way