Siem Reap, August 2020
walking in the old town
that I first knew
wishing that I could afford all the
massages and tuk tuk rides I am being offered
though they need the money more than I:
they ain’t selling too many elephant pants these days
the less the throng
the more the space,
and once the sprawl had stretched
the bounds of containment
but now there’s too much of nothing
shutters/house for rent/gone
I wander behind my nose
guided by disjointed memory:
13 years now of
when was I at this place,
with which beer
or which coffee
or which margarita afternoon
and with who?
my past Siem Reap tour companions,
I wish you well
so far down the line
the surface is like a lined,
lived-in face;
outward signs of
an inward struggle
folk still mill around the food vendors
sprinkle through the mobile coffee stalls
but deep in the market it’s cold and still
Cambodia, it appears,
continues to take its beatings
with a shrug and a shy smile,
consoled by family
ritual
karaoke
beer
and endless snacking
for those with a couple of thousand riel in hand
but surely I project –
I really know so little of how it all works,
with my dozen phrases and
ability to count as far as 20
as I continue to hope to find
the half of one percents
that might contribute
day by day
to my chosen Cambodian families
so it’s another day of staring into the future
with hopeful heart despite,
remembering that one day
this day will be
one of the memories
that I will recall
with beginner mind
to arrive at the start
with beginner mind
with kitten eyes
and puppy paws
at the water’s edge
feet bare in wet sand
and smooth waves testing
and retesting their mark
misplaced time now recovered
and laid open for view
see how it sparkles
on the water
step by step
with beginner mind
carried like reading glasses
to be used where appropriate
to avoid freezing and cramps
analogy
my flipflops
have tiny bells
attached,
so I can be
sonically detected
by those around me
however
I cannot hear them,
my hearing being
compromised by
years of headphones
the question
then arises:
what else am I missing?
it takes a village of saints
Saint Agatha for bakers and bell makers
Saint Joseph of Cupertino for poor students and test takers
Saint Anthony for missing persons and lost things
Saint Marculf against scrofula
Saint Alexius for belt makers and nurses
Saint Hyacinth for those in danger of drowning
Saint Mark the Evangelist for Egypt
Saint Rose of Lima for Peru
Saint Louis for Mauritius
Saint Quentin for chaplains, locksmiths and tailors
Saint Zita for servants and waiters
Saint Sebastian for athletes and soldiers
Saint Valentine for…. beekeeping
Saint George for the English, Saint Joan for the French
Saint Patrick for the Irish, the Nigerians and the engineers
Saint Eligius for taxi drivers, farries and farmers
Saint Frances of Rome for automobile drivers
Saint Genesius for actors and comedians and clowns
Saint John of God for nurses and sellers of books
Saint Martha for dietitians and cooks
Saint Raphael the Archangel for doctors and shepherds
and matchmakers
Saint Joseph against doubt and hesitation,
for travellers and the pregnant,
for Vietnam and Cambodia
Saint Rene Goupil for anesthesiologists
Saint Helen of Constantinople for archeologists
Saint Quirinus of Neuss against smallpox and gout
Saint Pancras against cramp, headache and perjury
Saint Michael against dangers at sea
Saint Christina the Astonishing against insanity
Saint Harvey against eye diseases
Saint Baldus against cold weather
Saint Rocco for second-hand dealers and grave diggers,
against knee problems and skin diseases
watching over benignly, standing by to assist
it takes a village of saints
sunday haiku
it cost me naught
a small generosity
and it made someone
cry
DRF
barely with us
and yet so loved
we gather in joy
with a touch of awe
almost as if surprised
that it really happened
witnessing a tenderness
arriving at the start of the third act
in a season of the unexpected
if we were looking
for signs of hope
(and surely we are)
we could hardly
ask for more
love triumphs
in the face
of the absurd
imperfection is best
sometimes it’s all about tenuous links
because the psychic hug moments
are sweeter when fewer
and a glance here and there
can change an hour
or even a day
sometimes it’s all about
the waiting
because you never know what might happen
if you stop rushing and sit
and we find objects
and arrange them in thought
and construct the collages
that surround us
sometimes things fall apart
and sometimes they merge
and sometimes the fractures are permanent
and sometimes they bring something new
great thinkers
can be baffling
(frequently)
and a good biographical story
ought to be more poetic than factual
at least that’s my
imperfect experience
when/where/how/what
will we learn
once the rains have come
and gone
and the tourists return
to dirty their feet
with Cambodian dust?
view
a careless sheen draped
across a sainted structure
a rippling rainbow of
soft touch nudges towards
ethereal magnetics
cloud of daydream
hovering in thick air
gently waiting for
a breeze to ride on
certain numbers and their import
2020 began with
jokes about hindsight
but we weren’t prepared for this
so many of our thoughts are
inadequate to requirements
fight or flight
shout or hide
history can be hard to live through
all staring at the same things
unable to look away
~
vague recollections of 2005
old enough to know better
and doesn’t seem so long ago
but now the distance between then
is the distance between birth and
first picking up a guitar
clearer is 2008
when everything changed
and I could see a future again
~
in 1967 our hero arrives
pink and screaming /yet/ white and comfortable
with no plans to change the world
he lives through the summer of love
and then through the violent exchanges
of 1968, oblivious
only to read all about it later
wars come and go
it takes a long time to find out
that the world can be a terrifying place
~
2020 began with
jokes about hindsight
but we weren’t prepared for this
the shirt
the shirt that I wore on the day
a music box, a pine cone
a shell, a key chain
such things are
talismatic and
brim with tender memory
they have been touched
and so are tactile
in a way that
a photographic record
is not
with time
so much
can stay
the same
and also
the opposite
is true
