TWO POEMS BY DANIEL RORTVEDT

ON THE MULTITUDE OF QUICK THOUGHTS

Distracted by the flickering

            unmanageable moment,

                       pointing a flashlight


around the room,

           lately I prefer to live

                      by chance alone—


gathering from memory

          the oil and water phenomenon,

                      two dozen apricot seeds,


a russet canvas,

            orange peels

                        in the compost pile,


all the dust intertwined

            like soft music

                        stirring the leaves.




BEGIN


Humid windows,
globe on a desk.
The stillness holds
too much pantomime.

Steam rises from a tea cup,
she yawns and reaches for a white robe,
fingers unfurled.


You’ve held the heirloom ring
in your palm
for a year.

It’s time to stitch together
separate narratives,
meet her unhurried,

shaping potato dumplings in the kitchen
while cotton T-shirts dry out
in the California sunlight.


About Daniel Rortvedt:
Daniel Rortvedt is an occupational therapist and poet. He completed a master's degree at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He has lived and worked in Colorado, Washington, Missouri, Wisconsin, and currently resides with his wife in Chicago.