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Indian Summer

(x = space)

x

x

Indian Summer

(in 2020)

x

It’s hot now

In the Northeast, and it’s

November

I recall something called

Indian Summer to explain

It

I don’t know if

That’s an offensive reference

I always thought that

It spoke to knowledge that

Native Americans had that

Those of us who only

Knew suburbia

Did not have,

Could not

Maybe not a secret knowledge

But a close knowledge of the land

And all the agencies

Of nature

x

I could look it up

But today some Republicans are

Fighting the results of elections

That were won by millions

And their surrogates

(where applicable)

And I’m worn out over biases,

Even though they tell us who

We are on a good day

Without the evil platform

Others try to make of them,

One side or another

x

So I’ll keep the second summer

For a little while,

Get smarter tomorrow

Issue apologies, if need be

My bias, by the way,

Is for a return

To chilly autumn

And wanting to believe

In election

x

coda

x

Okay, I looked it up

It is a term applied

By colonizers

(so is evident)

But so is Indian

That, I must admit, even

As a child seemed odd

To me:

Once the mistake

Columbus and the Europeans

Made was understood,

Why didn’t we change

The term?

And here’s a thought—we didn’t we

Ask them?

And why don’t we now?

They’ve got a term

An understanding

They refer to all of themselves

As “the people”

(translating and transcribing)

x

We the people,

Fancy that

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C L Couch

x

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Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

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An Inadequate Understanding

(x = space)

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x

An Inadequate Understanding

x

The Torah tells us how to live

The Talmud makes it real

The Jews worship on Friday

And on many other occasions

Their community has its

Not so pleasant parts, I’m sure

But I find it beautiful

I find them beautiful

When I was invited to

Rosh Hashanah services by a

Friend, because my birthday

Coincided as it sometimes has

x

Also Yom Kippur

But anyway,

Talk about evangelism

Accidental maybe, since Jews

Don’t promote for converts as

A rule

But living out the faith in friendship—

Not bad, not bad

Christians of the children faith,

Take note

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Tetiana SHYSHKINA on Unsplash

Kraków, Poland

door to the Jewish cheder in Krakow

(a kind of school that sadly I have not attended)

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2

Congratulations, Mister Biden and Ms. Harris

(x = space)

x

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Congratulations, Mister Biden and Ms. Harris

x

Dear Diary,

I’m sore today because

The bed frame broke last night

And, yes, I was in it

Though the soreness comes

From having to remove

It from the mattress,

Then try to fold it, then

Put the remnants by the door,

Hoping there will not be a fire

To cap off the drama

x

It was like the done-up

Broken bedroom scene in

The Quiet Man and other

Comedies

x

Several parts fell on the

Floor all by themselves, and

I should say half-parts, meaning

I guess that the disposable

Economy has won again

x

And I am resting on the

Mattress on the floor,

Having a hobbit’s perspective

Of the world;

I have to reach for things such

As a lamp switch or a book

Or my pills

x

I’ll have to drag the broken

Black metal to the trash

And then, I don’t know,

Look, shop around

For something new

x

I’ll have to let my muscles

Smooth out some

While hoping for

The unfraying of frayed nerves

x

At least,

I don’t have to worry about

Who’s President;

I guess that’s it—thanks,

Diary, for listening

x

coda

x

I’m now closer to the

Perspective of

The dust bunnies—maybe

They’ll invite me to a party

Just outside

Their secret warren

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C L Couch

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Photo by noslifactory on Unsplash

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2

Layperson’s Weekend Liturgy

(x = space)

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Layperson’s Weekend Liturgy

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Everything seems

A little off today

There are dry spots

In the roll,

And the coffeemaker

Appears to have made

Less coffee

x

The sun’s a little

Too bright, the blue

A little too pale

x

I see the dust too easily,

Which I’m sure

Is no one’s fault

But my own

x

I’m not sure why

The hazy and hard

Parts are the ones

I focus on; maybe they

Are focusing

On me, though

By and large

I think that nature and

The world really

Don’t care, nor should

They have to

x

So I’ll take this day

In my dusty, unclear

World as a gift,

Something bestowed

By what caused me

To sleep last night,

What woke me up

This morning

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C L Couch

x

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Photo by PJ Gal-Szabo on Unsplash

Baseball catcher with the dust of his mitt in the air.

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0

Love of Story

Love of Story

x

Mostly, we read stories

Now

To children at the end of day

Or sometimes in

A social situation when

The elements

Are undeclared and

Might surprise us, if we knew

x

There are official

Storytellers, having trained

Or trained themselves,

Maybe belonging to

A kind of guild

x

Mostly, the storytelling

Voice is left to books

Without our

Participation except

When reading to ourselves or

At the end of day

Or in the backyard

With our friends,

While some meat

Is cooking on the grill

x

Our ancient texts

Have voices, but we do not think

Of them (or them)

So much;

Their lessons are alive,

Sometimes their prayers—but

That there are

People talking to their people

Then and to us now

Is not so much a matter,

As it might have been

Outside the book

x

Is this a problem?

Well, it might be:

We might benefit from allowing for

Human presence in our

Stories—yes, our prayers—through

The ages,

Divine intrusions (or,

yes, divine inspirations)

Notwithstanding

x

But these are our stories, too,

If only by intent of audience

(which is to say

they are for you, they are

for us),

Which is to say we read them, have

Them read to us:

We engage,

We respond,

We learn

Sometimes we are changed

And at any age,

In any age,

Are grown

x

So keep the stories living,

Let’s tell our own

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Melanie Lim on Unsplash

Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur, Federal Territory of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

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3

Love Rules

(x = space)

x

x

Love Rules

x

And what does love say

But

To wait as in

Have patience, to wait

As in readiness to serve

Then serving

Love as a good question

And an impulse,

Love of everything

Except that which is evil,

Which destroys

As in the field

Or in freedom

x

Love today, love now

It is the height,

The depth, the middle way

We can come back to it,

Should we need to

Should we lose our way, now

And then

x

I mean self-love,

Certainly, but love of others,

Too

Love of partners, love of

Family, of friends

Love of strangers—there’s a

Greek and Christian

Story

About that, while

I imagine everywhere

There is a story about

Entertaining strangers

Who are angels,

Unawares

x

So be aware and ready,

And

Love in the mean time

Not because heaven

Says so,

Though it does,

But because it’s the best

Humanity as well—the

Kind we know, even to know

It from

Pushing it down

Get help, get therapy

Read and write it

x

For love must be way:

Easy, difficult, wounding

And then healing

Praying

And, yes, planning

Understanding on the inside

To do it on the outside—

Realized in all dimensions

Not weak but weak,

Protected,

Strong on its own

Ready for each day

When there will be joy

Within the labor

x

I’ll stop on Poe’s

Favorite sound (made by o-r),

Though here

It’s but a schwa:

Love is small

Love is large

Its power suffuses all

There is none greater

None smaller

Children can manage

So must we all

x

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C L Couch

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Photo by Magdalena Smolnicka on Unsplash

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Too Good a Day

(x = space)

x

x

Too Good a Day

(not really)

x

Blue and green

And black and brown,

All in their places

It’s a grand day—

Pretty as a picture,

Some might say,

Though I think it goes

The other way around;

The dust-bunnies

Could come out

To play except that

I would see them,

Which is the drawback:

The sun is good upon

The rugs, and I can see

Everything I should

Be picking up

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Mathew Schwartz on Unsplash

Elk County, United States

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Asking Questions, Desert Mother

(x = space,

because I can’t cut and paste

using the new WordPress editor—

grrr)

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x

Asking Questions, Desert Mother

(two poems)

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x

Asking Questions

x

After the years,

Asking questions that

Could be left to children:

What do I want to

Be when

I grow up?

What do you want

Of me, dear Lord,

Or anyone (else)

Who cares?

How do I give without

Being taken in?

(okay, this question

more for the grown-up, maybe

embittered)

x

And do we

Always ask these questions,

Or is it more rarefied

To do so?

Or simply strange

x

There is a wider

World of happenings,

Some brutal and, well,

Simply bad

Though much of it

Is beautiful,

Inside and outside human

Flesh and in

The natures we’ve been given,

The nature of ourselves and

The nature of the planet

x

These days, especially, it’s

Not hard to find out

What’s going on,

Though much remains

Hidden by

The agenda-hiders, which

Is regrettable

x

All shall be known,

Eventually

And it might go hard

But, you know, for now

Let’s keep asking questions

Of ourselves,

Our world,

And of God

x

Let’s take lifetimes, then,

To learn to ask

And then be satisfied with

What we learn

When asking,

Because we’re still outside the gate

Often forgetting there’s

Paradise nearby

x

x

Desert Mother

x

I have a sharp pain

In my foot

To distract me

From the headache

x

I guess this is

Negotiation with the

Lord

Who made me

And tasks me

In such ways

x

I am old

And beyond children

Except the ones

I talk to

In this way

x

Whether or not I’m heard

I shall not know

Because I’m here

And they

And you

Are there

x

When I am

In heaven, I still

Might not know how

The children of

Earth have done

Until you are old,

Then sleep

As I have done

And wake to me

And all the rest

Who have been waiting

For you

x

And, yes,

We have other things

To do here

So will you

x

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Michael Milverton on Unsplash

Wylie Bay Rd, Bandy Creek WA 6450, Australia, Bandy Creek

Sand Sand Everywhere

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1

Hola, Everyone Gone on Before

(x = space)

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Hola, Everyone Gone on Before

(All Souls)

x

The veil we talk about

At Hallowe’en, the one that

Causes us to hide from

Ghosts and things, is thinned

Today with love

So that we might have

Concourse with the dead we know

To remember fondly

x

The cultures that define, promote,

And celebrate this day—well,

They are smart

Wise in understanding

That family is a matter of

Connection, and there are threads

That intertwine through

Generations

And I am saying this plainly, I suppose,

Without to some

Enough poetic

Protocol, but tonight there will be

Remembrances at gravesides

With everyone straightforwardly

Conversing with each other

And in company

With those they haven’t

Been with for a while,

Maybe since last year

x

Tío, he was a so-and-so—

Yes, you know you were—but

We are glad to think of

Him tonight, and we miss

You, Tío

x

If they are or were really bad,

Then I guess we do not talk

With them or bring them

Up with words,

Though maybe everyone we do not

Live with anymore is given more

Understanding, the kind that comes

We know

From time and distance

x

So who knows what might

Come about in

Understanding

¿Quién sabe?

x

I don’t know what

Children think

About all this,

Though I imagine they

Understand it all

Better than we grownups

And won’t mind talking with

Grandparents,

Family friends,

Or anyone understood

To have drawn nearer

x

C L Couch

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By J Mndz – https://www.flickr.com/photos/jorge_mendez/50398993712/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=94849432

San Andrés de Mixquic es un pueblo situado en la delegación de Tláhuac, al sur de la Ciudad de México. En este lugar la celebración del Día de los Muertos se hace de una manera particular. Las ofrendas se colocan sobre las tumbas y el cementerio está completamente adornado de flores. La noche es el escenario perfecto, pues los visitantes llegan aproximadamente a las 7 de la noche con velas que alumbran el lugar y proporcionan un espectagulo luminoso magnífico.

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