Posts for June 5, 2018 (page 7)

You Were My Tree

a downy pecker veers left, to land in a 
leafless black cherry. the sky turns like
milk sours- darkening all but the horizon,
which is lit up like a drunk
delivering his punchline.

i see the invasive garlic mustard
which drives off the native spring
ephemerals, and feel powerless.

i long for snow ladies and starbursts,
but settle for this pink rock i found,
resembles quartz. it is salt someone
planted to draw deer.  

that last night i held onto you like the
handle of a trunk containing everything 
i owned. my thoughts now are spread
out like branches. 

i draw tight the collar of my coat i got
in Cleveland, where we would go for a
walk and not talk for miles.

wasps in bushes

dogs in cars

skeletons in closets

It’s almost the last day of school.
Watch out mom and dad, cause here they come.
If you don’t work, then you will soon.
They’ll be up at 6 o clock in your bedroom!
Screaming and fighting.
“We got nothing to do!
Can you spend a little gas and money please?”
So it’s off to a movie, “I wanna go home!”
There went 50 dollars!  Someone shoot me please!

And if you have a job, get ready.
The extortionists are waiting across town.
They want to be paid like a doctor gets paid
To watch your kids run around!
And the food they feed em ain’t fit to eat.
Do you know what a salad sandwich is?  
It’s two pieces of bread with some salad dressing.
It’s ridiculous, but I swear it’s true!
They’re gonna get bit,
Better watch for bugs.
You better hope the workers ain’t high on…
Life…or whatever.
Sometimes they are, and one time I heard
They were even selling life out of there.

So maybe they’re better off in school.
Summer’s always hot.
Sometimes it just ain’t cool.

Paradise billows
soft fog flowing
from the humid morning’s kudzu

I pray on a strict schedule that when I wake it will be to the smell of blossoming flowers 

I still check the mirror to ensure my doe eyes have not turned too dark 

The innocence inside me weeps for fear of the demons that lie hidden 

I don’t know who I’m praying to

If I close my eyes for too long, their blood-stained grins cloud my vision

I can’t hold my breath for too much longer 

I’m torn between those golden irises and that pair of silver lining eyes.
All hell along a bright tapestry; mother of pearl, where violence ensues.
Twisted and spiderwebbed like cracks running through glass floors, between everything that eases these canine waters, and the things that run them rabid.
I’m a filthy wretched thing, born of mud, and crafted specifically for excess, but I could drown in this as gold or honey, like a witches dandelion blessing.
This is soft lace in a red desert, where the swords are planted, but never grow.

A few months past 
the fact, the internet 
suggests breaking something. 

Have you tried 
smashing a glass
making noise 
boxing, jogging 
journaling, forgiving? 

I try not to make a habit of it 
or I will never have a clean plate 
to eat off of again. 

I choose the white one 
with three green rings around 
the edges. I broke it, 
and cleaned the shards up, 
still feeling pricked by the smallest pieces 
my eyes couldn’t protect me from. 

The next night 
I stayed up until 5 AM scrubbing 
the walls of my shower. 

Later, I learned, 
there is nothing 
I can break or bleed 
scrub or scorn 
that will heal me 
the way sharing a sidwalk 
with you and starring 
straight down my path 
almost broke me–
until I called out within myself 

                                                                           I am free. 

James Moody, I met you in New York City when you moved there from Vegas
You were already a world-famous jazz saxophonist
One of your landmarks was your solo on “I’m in the Mood for Love”
Eddie Jefferson wrote lyrics to it and called it “Moody’s Mood for Love”
It begins with, “There I go, there I go, there I go . . .”

I heard you live several times in NYC
On one of your gigs, you brought up Janis Siegel to sing “Moody’s Mood”
You jumped in to sing falsetto on the “girl’s” chorus
The audience laughed
You also did a scat call-and-response with the audience
The audience was with you until your last lengthy, virtually un-memorizable, scat call
The audience laughed.

Once you were in Lexington, KY, for a jazz festival at the Opera House
You showed me a picture of someone you said was your girlfriend, but you covered up everything except the face
I kind of smiled and nodded
You uncovered the rest of the photo to reveal that it was Liberace
I laughed.

When you first moved to New York, you were looking for work
I hired you to play flute on a jingle session
It was for a feminine hygiene product
I was told not to use your name
I wasn’t sure what that meant
I had never heard of jingles showing musician credits
Anyway, it never ran, because the company decided not to market the product
I listen to the track sometimes, and I laugh.

There you go,
There you go,
There you go . . .

I can’t believe
I had to ask
who you were,
not that
you’ve changed
or anything.
Me either.