Squirreling away smiles

Man in dark mustache wants your vote,
The one in yellow pamphlet of promise.

Mustaches hide the smiles for elections,
Like squirrels hiding the nuts in a bush.

We promise our nothing ,only squirrels
Who chip away at our lonely mornings.

The squirrels cross our paths in walks
Sporting three dark lines on a soft fur

God or someone made in love of myth
With loving fingers of his gratefulness.

We are squirreling away all our smiles
For use in summers of ungratefulness.

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Maps of shame

We turn back to collect our shame.
We make a white cloth bundle of it ,

To carry it to the backyard to wash
At the well where shame is washed.

We have our gorge between home
And the neighbor, under his house.

We transit through it in its shadow
To the well where shame is washed.

We did nothing to bring us shame.
But we are a shame on white cloth.

We were born of a shame on cloth,
A cloth that carries maps of shame.

Who made the world

Her questions who made the world
Float in the air on this summer day

While sea rolls big dark and lonely.
She was her grass-hopper who ate

Sugar from her hands and hopped
From the grass she knew not how.

Our bodies are familiar with grass.
Its roots smell a God who made us

And grass-hopper and Mary Oliver
With questions floating in sea’s air.

(After Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day)