In what box will I place you
under my bed?
At night your dreams
will rise to meet me.
My bedroom door will open as if the wind
called it.
Instead of black empty hallway,
you will be there.
Your chest the soft warm carapace
of night.
Your lips the water that lives
in rivers.
Your siren call will bring me
to you.
I will follow you
to the Sound.
In the morning,
I will wonder what brought me
to this riverbank
as I choke on the water in my lungs.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Observations of My Arm
Hair grows out of my arm two or three
strands to a pore.
It shines like filaments of gold in the lamplight.
I am reminded that we have the same
number of hairs as a chimpanzee,
our distant cousin who never learned to stand,
never got that muscle memory deep into her thighs and followed it.
Pigment as dark as earth floats to the top layer of my skin in dots,
like a lily pad extending to the sun.
I am all mammals beneath their fur – pale, white, sunless.
But these freckles remind me that I was there and back again,
that every memory within me has its place.
strands to a pore.
It shines like filaments of gold in the lamplight.
I am reminded that we have the same
number of hairs as a chimpanzee,
our distant cousin who never learned to stand,
never got that muscle memory deep into her thighs and followed it.
Pigment as dark as earth floats to the top layer of my skin in dots,
like a lily pad extending to the sun.
I am all mammals beneath their fur – pale, white, sunless.
But these freckles remind me that I was there and back again,
that every memory within me has its place.
Letter to t he Boy Who Taught Me Stars
Cody, you were always ahead of me
and when I started kindergarten,
I wanted to know how the teacher
made stars.
Our mother tried to show me to draw them
Our brother tried to show me to draw them
but you brought me to our bedroom window,
exhaled clouds onto the pane,
and wrote with your finger
in the dissolving language of the sky.
and when I started kindergarten,
I wanted to know how the teacher
made stars.
Our mother tried to show me to draw them
Our brother tried to show me to draw them
but you brought me to our bedroom window,
exhaled clouds onto the pane,
and wrote with your finger
in the dissolving language of the sky.
The Bad Tea Party Room
When I misbehaved as a child,
my parents never punished me.
They never hit or spanked or timed out.
Instead, they dressed me in a tiny Victorian suit
and served me tea in gold-leafed china
and sat me at my short, plastic table
in the Bad Room, saying into my ear, “Is this what you want?”
“Do you know what we had to go through?”
my parents never punished me.
They never hit or spanked or timed out.
Instead, they dressed me in a tiny Victorian suit
and served me tea in gold-leafed china
and sat me at my short, plastic table
in the Bad Room, saying into my ear, “Is this what you want?”
“Do you know what we had to go through?”
The Study of Cycles
I heard of a cicada whose eggs lie dormant
underground for seventeen years.
I don’t know why it is seventeen years
but a molecule of carbon will
be alive forever.
A rock will be alive forever.
Today a rock tomorrow mineral in the soil
and then next Tuesday a wisp of cornsilk on my kitchen floor.
You can never step on dead ground
and even the beginning of Spring, with all its flurry of seed,
is the end of winter
and the draining of water
across a bare ribcage.
underground for seventeen years.
I don’t know why it is seventeen years
but a molecule of carbon will
be alive forever.
A rock will be alive forever.
Today a rock tomorrow mineral in the soil
and then next Tuesday a wisp of cornsilk on my kitchen floor.
You can never step on dead ground
and even the beginning of Spring, with all its flurry of seed,
is the end of winter
and the draining of water
across a bare ribcage.
Piano Love Ballad (For Mom)
The mother’s foot
squashed a rat eating corn
on the basement stairs.
Nobody ever told her
the groundwater was poisoned
that she pushed between the lips
of her fat-headed colicky baby
or that the spit-rashed boy
who tore off his clothes
would grow up like a tree trunk
and have hair that shines
in the late
October sun.
And that before she knows it
his hair has filaments
of gray
and he has burrowed himself
deep into the lakebottom sand
to wait for whatever flood comes
squashed a rat eating corn
on the basement stairs.
Nobody ever told her
the groundwater was poisoned
that she pushed between the lips
of her fat-headed colicky baby
or that the spit-rashed boy
who tore off his clothes
would grow up like a tree trunk
and have hair that shines
in the late
October sun.
And that before she knows it
his hair has filaments
of gray
and he has burrowed himself
deep into the lakebottom sand
to wait for whatever flood comes
Love World
The population is nearing 20 billion? you ask and I say
Shhh and run my hands through the digital cables
running from your skull and kiss your radioactive forehead.
I will always be here for you.
Shhh and run my hands through the digital cables
running from your skull and kiss your radioactive forehead.
I will always be here for you.
Winter Fire
It’s eighty-five in here.
My father
lit a fire in the new fireplace.
The tea’s gone cold.
The dog’s run off.
Everyone around me is smiling together
and rattling ice cubes in high-ball glasses.
I look for a safe place to stand
among these statues.
I land in front of the fire, the heat shrinking my skin.
I realize I’m older than I’ve ever been
as I watch the clock wind down
and the snow stack on the eaves.
Even the birds know when to leave.
My father
lit a fire in the new fireplace.
The tea’s gone cold.
The dog’s run off.
Everyone around me is smiling together
and rattling ice cubes in high-ball glasses.
I look for a safe place to stand
among these statues.
I land in front of the fire, the heat shrinking my skin.
I realize I’m older than I’ve ever been
as I watch the clock wind down
and the snow stack on the eaves.
Even the birds know when to leave.
Slipped Disc (for Dad)
His gasket blew.
He was running fine,
hoisting his body to work every morning,
bending at the waist and
reaching above his head,
until wham!
A transmission slipped
along his spine,
a deteriorated disc
caked with rust
finally skidded
to a stop.
It took every doctor
to check under the hood,
to bleed his brakes,
to test his fluids with a dipstick.
But they finally
built him back up
and all it took
were the right parts.
He was running fine,
hoisting his body to work every morning,
bending at the waist and
reaching above his head,
until wham!
A transmission slipped
along his spine,
a deteriorated disc
caked with rust
finally skidded
to a stop.
It took every doctor
to check under the hood,
to bleed his brakes,
to test his fluids with a dipstick.
But they finally
built him back up
and all it took
were the right parts.
Heirloom
A team of seamstress crows
takes to wing,
seaming the two halves of treetops together.
One side of the road to the other.
Repairing the wound
left
to unite us.
takes to wing,
seaming the two halves of treetops together.
One side of the road to the other.
Repairing the wound
left
to unite us.
I have been writing like a fiend.
Oh man! I have two poetry classes this semester and a fiction class. I'm reading so much that I'm writing in higher volumes, and producing higher quality work. Hopefully I will keep it up. As it is now, I write about a poem a day!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
