Time is a stream
you step into once
you run out of other options
A house is a metaphor
for what you want
to take place inside the house
Things happen
the way they always have
then they happen again
Some are missing
you remember them more
when you miss them
Mouth makes language
out of another
mouth’s reaction to it
Return is incomplete
when you begin
where you started
Blog
That Story
These born into stories
never far from what made us
reckoning into the past
ellipsis of known forgottens
press record before slip
separates difference in time
within what adjusts us
to this intermittent present
between now and the next
now you take into account
which story ends you begin
The Boxes
How do decades stay
shuttered in cardboard boxes
for so many years
when all the time they
populated my day dreams
with stuff happening
the dreams stay open
occasionally spilling
over the edge of
what remains of the boxes
Part
Back in the old neighborhood
wondering how everyone is doing
especially myself
the light hitting the house
seems brighter than before
can’t remember the last time
I drove down this street
except the feeling of
knowing who I was
that part of me belongs here
the part I carry with me
part of the way back home
Growing Teeth
If nothing else
let this day be remembered
for upon the uncomfortable
fitfulness of nap time
interrupted by cries
irresistible to human ears
attached to my cranium
I picked up the child
who let me become acquainted
for an hour or so with
the personification of sleep
which I in my infinite wisdom
accepted as did the cat
who insisted on joining us on my lap
After an Evening of Watching Genealogical Programs on PBS
Delayed recognition
for decades if not centuries
to know someone you know
possesses the only story
and can answer questions
the answers don’t even know
how likely it is to have
the chances for long life
in the cantor of a song
who knows where the words
came from or where they go
in the hearing a silence
that may happen again
the last living memory
was once yet to be born
and laughs at the thought
of remembering many things
many many things
Haiku Day
Deciphering words
out of the babble we hear
what we think are words
Reacting to trees
how they appear different
the more you see them
Perhaps like they did
the first time we walked with her
could she remember
Face of practiced awe
who are we to interrupt
the pace of rapture
With our semantics
is she responding or just
accommodating
Language we provide
shaping the eternity
from which she springs forth
To fit a design
we can barely respond to
with a halting yes
Nap State of Mind
Starting to think the child
is already picking up
my worst habits
like staying up too late
for no real reason
except in this case
it’s the middle of the day
and a nap that need not
be abandoned yet
that will no doubt affect
the rest of the day such
as it is with little rest
until eyes so tired
they won’t let sleep arrive
might need to stay up
a little later to describe it
Attachment Theory
Begins with maybe crying
for a minute when not
so long ago sleep came
without a second thought
Occasionally crawling
into distracted arms
for the presence lacking
momentarily
I’ve not been tracking
each independent milestone
except when the obvious
becomes apparent
The truth is each child
will let you know
their own mind
when they want to
They somehow know
saying goodbye
is the habit of a lifetime
and can wait
a little longer
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It’s been so long since
we’ve been able to say
we expect you to
outlive us all someday
when I recognize
the mischievous smile
in my child’s face
I know you have
probably a falsehood
to say you won’t meet
have any of us not
met the mystery?
in the next century
we may find ourselves
outliving what we
could not see
easy to say it goes by
in the blink of an eye
if I close them
it seems much longer
one glance at the stars
a prayer perhaps
you are looking back at us
eternity collapsed
there you are in the photograph
great grandchildren laugh
Joshua Keiter 