Poetry from the Borderlands

There are books, so many books,
and there are gospels and proverbs
and psalms and prophets. And cook books,
repair books, novels, anthologies, poetry,
and bookstores selling new books and used books;
selling journals, sandwiches, and wine, and it all says,
Welcome into this little paradise.

There should be tamale sellers
going door to door selling their red
and green wonders. I’d buy a dozen a week.
I would cook them with eggs and homemade salsa,
but I’d settle for sipping tequila while grilling
carne asada or lemon salmon and listening
to Dvorak, Carl Nielsen, or Rachmaninov;
to Queen, Beethoven, or Enya.

And when the sun rises, there is joy
and there is dread and there is music
and coffee, breakfast, lunch, and supper;
and there are cookies and milk
and so much to do, so many places to go
and families, friends, and lovers to keep us warm.

Then nighttime falls silently like a breath of spring,
like a sigh of hope, like a gentle caress of a lover’s cheek,
like the longing for a wine-soaked kiss goodnight.

~Marc A. Crowley