DROUGHT
The city sways and jerks,
every citizen
with an uncontainable urge
to keep moving; get in cars, go to the mall,
the movies, get somewhere
and be cooled. Downing gallons
of water, taking baths,
we shower, swim
in chlorinated pools, float belly up
in the Pacific, looking to hydrate, immerse
in anything wet – a momentary fix –
for what we crave descends
unbidden, no need
to turn a spigot, twist a bottle cap –
a highly strung force, like a woman
who can take or leave you depending
on her mood.
In my third-floor apartment,
I fuss and flip under
one thin sheet,
pull the hapless, churning fan
one inch closer, hang on the moon pitched
cockeyed out my window – so coolly
indifferent
to our fevered plight below.
RAVEN
Probes damp blades of grass,
eyes insect and stone,
his mannered countenance,
pointed attentions,
a benediction,
a feathered anointment.
PECOS, NEW MEXICO
Beyond the river
a fan of cottonwoods
bows to the dawn.
A million light years
of sun
prick my flesh.
Crying comes easily
at movies
in the middle of the day,
at dinner
biting into an olive.
What if it’s not about
who I am,
but the red-veined stone
at the river’s edge?
Appeared in Poesy, 2004
© Copyright Hari Bhajan Khalsa. All Rights Reserved.
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