J.K. Durick- Three Poems

J.K. Durick is from Vermont, where he teaches writing and tutors writers online for the Community College of Vermont. His recent poems have appeared in Madswirl, Eye on Life, Yellow Chair Review, and Leaves of Ink.

          Another Day

 

The way they are distributed,

Sequenced seems all wrong.

There’s always this newness,

Mornings like to pretend to,

 

It stirs and even enlivens us,

But then, after that, they go on,

As we know they will, like laws

Chiseled out in stone, hardened,

Immoveable, as predictable as

Noon or a change in the weather.

 

Another day, like its predecessors,

Ticks along, clicks along, a parade,

An army of hours marching by,

In step, eyes front, flags furled,

Silent bands stepping cautiously,

Ominously disappearing in the end.

 

Another day darkens later on, brings

Us full circle, home, the same dog

Barking, left overs reheated again, and

Then, what it has become, television,

 

Harmless conversation, perhaps some

Popcorn, a nightcap to wear us, bear us

Off to bed, off to dream about another

Day, the one we just left, or the one

Coming on, the one coming on, coming on.

In a very real way it’s just another day.

 

 

 

                  Full of It

 

It’s at the bottom of the hill, of course

Right next to that patch of dead grass

 

And it’s at the top of that same hill

As he starts out, and stays with him as he

 

Races down, letting gravity have its way

Pulling him, his feet barely touching as

 

He runs from it, to it, with it along for the ride

And, he’s sure, the next time they open

 

His skull, as they do from time to time

To probe and touch to test his reflexes

 

They’ll find it next to the section where

He keeps childhood memories and the taste

 

Of strawberries and if he’s awake while

They’re at their work, he usually is, he’ll hear

 

Them say, hey look, it’s here where we least

Expected to find it in such large quantities.

                 Door

 

I have spent hours with doors

I have stood In front of doors

Behind doors

 

Spent time indoors

Some outdoors

 

Opened them, Held them

Wished them open

Slammed them Closed

 

I’ve painted a few

Planed the bottom of one

Replaced the screen

In yet another

 

I’ve locked ‘em, kicked ‘em

Peered around Some

Hid behind others

 

I’ve spent hours on doors

Decorated some, used them

To say important things

 

I have owned some, sold some

I have knocked on a few doors

Made metaphors of others

 

I answer them, greet my guests

At them

 

I have sat for hours

Staring at them, waiting

Reached for the knob, hoping

 

I have hours of doors

Doors of hours

 

I have finally become a door

Part opened, Part closed

 

But a door nonetheless.