Joe Cottonwood
I have hundreds of postcards poems which I send by U.S. Mail to friends.
What I love about postcards is the forced brevity, the chance to be whimsical and playful. They are ekphrastic poems for an audience of one.
Here are a few.
Joe Cottonwood
no matter the plumage
our blood began in
the same salty sea
apart we cool
together we warm
We both as naked
as life can be
sharing the bath
the mom the future.
I lower you, son,
with my big thumbs
into warm water.
Yes, I’ll hold on.
And on.
trapped by avalanche
on the mountain
we made love
with such heat
the sky burst
into flame
clearing rocks
from roadway
and that, my child
in our van
is how you began
As a giraffe I can peep
into high windows
but people drama
is so boring.
Give me trees,
a leaf to chew
a sky of colors.
Watch with me
day’s end, from high
it lingers longer.
No two sunsets
ever the same
walk with me, friend
summer is ending
the wheat reaches
for a darkening sky
hidden in trees
starlings call
to sing farewell
soon we’ll
go home
in turtle school
we practice lockdown
we never fight
we shelter in place
we take the long view
in peace to grow old
the manual
for old age
is lengthy
in small print
for spotty eyes
the message is
a rising moth
a floating dove
a falling leaf
the last page
a surprise
In the book of my life
the cover shows a handsome man
who is not me
driving a red convertible
which is not mine
across Africa
where I have never gone.
Resting by a redwood tree
a little man is typing
about the handsome man, car, Africa.
That’s me.
It’s a great story.
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