I am Saturn

A soft breeze carries the buzz of
a lawn mower through the window.
Someone is driving his
John Deere over the hurt that’s
drying in the summer sun.
He can’t chop it all out but
he gets enough.

It’s Saturday,
the day to celebrate Saturn,
to wear hula hoops and dance,
a tribe of moon babies circling your immensity.

I feel big today.
The devil snuck up on me in the night
and asked me to sign his smoking contract
but I stuck a sock in his mouth
and made a funny face.
He went away sulking
but I don’t feel at all bad for treating a guest that way.

For I am Saturn,
feeding my bulk on ice cream and fudge.
I smack Jupiter’s gassy head
and tell him to take a hike.
All my friends circle me,
praising a perfect summer day.
And the devil drags a sickle across his dirt,
crying into my sock.

The long, gentle call of enlightenment

It’s the hardest thing in the world to change a heart, including your own.

I try not to judges the jackasses I know: the guy who belittles everyone’s achievements to gain power over them, the woman who takes offense at the tiniest criticism and will not forgive. Too much of our lives are wasted on hate, so I try to understand them not as enemies but as folks with flaws, just like me, who mean well, most of the time. I’m not always successful.

You see, I try to walk softly on this earth. Then I see a bug and I stomp the hell out of it. But the bug is me; my own happiness is squashed beneath my shoe.

It’s instinct. I have the right formula in my brain, a heavenly equation filled with love and understanding, as flawless as Einsteinian relativity. But the heart has its own calculus, a dark math filled with negative numerals and graphs that curve steeply downward.

Sometimes there’s a rock in my chest. It beats blood but does not let in my better angels.

But even Buddha didn’t find enlightenment overnight. He spent years under that tree, enduring hunger, loneliness and birds raining filth on his head. But he stayed put, calling gently at the threshold of his hard, snarling heart until it grew tired and unlocked the door.

Everyone deserves a black lab

She trotted toward me a bit sideways. When I offered my hand for a sniff she merely glanced it wetly, brushing her head against my leg and tendering her butt for a scratch. She’s everyone’s friend, said her owner. No, I thought; she’s mine.

Everyone deserves a black lab, and though I’m set against having a dog in my home I should reconsider in the case of this most happy breed. Perhaps the shedding is worth it, the occasional carpet vomit, the chewing of shoes. My nephew’s black lab once peed to the brim of his owner’s sneaker in anger, but he’s part spaniel and that could explain the spite.

My life shall remain dogless for the foreseen future, but if my mind changes, if I need canine salvation, I shall look away from light and toward the darkness. From thence comes a bundle of love, wagged by a whiptail and trotting sideways into my arms.