He gave his two left feet
And danced away the pain
Walking to dialysis, I bounce.
I feel my hips swing behind me,
pumping me high above the playground.
I am young; I have a world ahead of me.
I won’t need glasses for three decades.
Now, I can’t keep them clean. Eyes fail.
My mother became blind in one eye.
The woman I now recognize was my
best friend, who always read, did, too.
It’s different not to see craters
on the moon, or the shadows of
my mother’s face, orbiting above me.
I see everything through jellied gauze.
It’s there, just out of reach, like spirits
in a graveyard that we bring with us.
They set us free. We soar through time,
remembering delight. I see you run after
the wild goose who refused to fly.
You skip trip, chasing after him, laughing.
You bend to pick up a spent magnolia blossom.
I still have its ruby seeds.
Or maybe it’s just one I found, your talisman.
Thank you for this earth, this loneliness
that makes me seek you in my sky.
so tiny, this sliver
of effervescent sunlight
bouncing along the western sky
to produce a 90s punk-pop backdrop
for a moribund traveler;
this cloud, no special object
just one observed while topping a hill
going five under,
this specific shade
reaching me, however quickly,
and gone the selfsame instant
made me realize just how I appear
to the universe
that produced it
on trains and in parks
in the kitchen while we painted
through city streets
and dark alleys
seeking out music and walking white lines
with the vampires
screamed at the mice
and the men
and stared stony and angry at death
as it stole our friends
separated by miles
yet tethered by the memories
and promises of another adventure
but you’ve gone and left
off on an adventure
dancing along a path that i will someday follow
What does it feel like
to have words people want?
Anecdotes for what’s
got us frothing
and cherry picking headlines.
Will the phrase “hooker piss”
come up? If so, in what context?
What twists of arms
and tucks of greasy bills,
bugs and promises.
What cans of Pandora’s worms