Poems

Finding Balance

In childhood I learned

to balance a book on my head,

bending knee, hip, shoulder

level-headed, steady, smooth.

Imagine a thread

from above your crown

through your spine to your arches

holding you tall.

Later, learning to walk again,

shuffling, weak, unsteady

behind my blue and black Cruiser DX

posture movements, balance

all a conscious, willed effort

after the supplication

for energy to flow,

I learned to stand and straighten my spine

head level as under that book, knowing

that which holds me up is the strength

of that vibrant, invisible thread.

                        -Carol Bindel

What Do You Mean?

I mean the smell of October

and textures of the shore,

clean winds from tall mountains,

and the constant flow of rivers.

I mean a grocery list,

laundry, the dance,

and hungers too deep

for any food or sex to fill.

I mean the helpless

infant's mewling bleat

and the visceral growl

of a warrior attacking.

I mean tanks, guns, boots

Blackhawks, IEDs

and MREs that only vaguely

taste like home.

I mean cardboard houses,

dumpster lunches less than

a mile from gated compounds,

carefully landscaped and guarded.

I mean dog poop, kids laughing,

tag, hide-and-seek, Grandpa's coin

collection, a song, scream, sigh, wail,

shoving, hugging, stealing, serving.

I mean homemade bread,

pumpkin pie, fire in the stove

and flames licking through

ancient barn timbers

standing, groaning, resisting,

but finally yielding, nonetheless,

just like you do, and I

mean I am the lost sheep, strayed

from last night's counting line

and cannot find the path

to the shelter of routine.

I mean, too, the sure-footed

bellwether sheep, the one

just slightly ahead, 

leading by subtle instinct.

I mean the hoot of an owl

and the squeal of a mouse

and a purse full of purses

with puzzles and rings.

I mean a twig on a family tree,

script flourishes still forming

on the line, born to choose

and choose again.

I mean I exist at 9:06 on a Monday

morning, on this wave of breath,

walking under our shared sun,

swirling among all his brother stars.

You mean all that too, don’t you?

                                -Carol Bindel