New Gogyohka Poems

bird
on a
wire
flips
its tail


wind
rushes
and bends my
willow
tree


black grackle
hops
and
rushes
to water


silver
bird
has
black
wing tips


life
is a
test
of
patience


feel the rush
on my bicycle
peddling fast
down a dirt road
turn and crash


a teacher
once said
the answer
is
all around you


I pluck
my
Kalimba
for
rain


Willow
sways
to the tune
of the
wind


role
reversal
Mother
is like
a child


Neighbor
smiles
from his
side of
the fence


end of day
takes
the weight
off
my feet

Last Breakfast in Des Moines

A shy servant in her 60s smiled as I spooned
breakfast buffet food onto my plate.
I wondered if she was a Bosnian refugee.
Her shoulder-length hair, bleached, dry, wiry--
looked shampooed but unconditioned. She weighed
more than I weigh, a head taller, grayish-blue eyes.
Her English sufficient. She understood enough.
While I waited for plain, scrambled eggs,
she asked, "Are you coming back again next year?"

"No, Ma'am. I'm going to Florida. This Conference
meets in a different state each year. Do you travel much?"
"Vunce (once) a year I go to Yōō'dup (Europe) to see my father."
Soon, she implied that her mother passed away,
had been gone since '94. Tears and sadness welled
on the whites of her eyes. The more she spoke,
the more she gulped her words. A lump formed
in my throat, tears rolled into my eyes.

"God bless you, Ma'am." I extended my arms,
wrapped them around her neck, pressing
my right cheek against hers, offered a hug.
"I must sit down now to eat my breakfast."
We nodded our heads at each other. "Goodbye."