Down Wind Kilauea
That dusting of ash,
grey silt cradled in
Kalo breast,
this is how we are made.
the moon
a slice of yellow
radish fierce in the dark
rooftops
clenched fists holding
to breath
the stars
a web of terrible
need to arrange colors
in a night
more alive than
religion
Some things you can wrestle:
shadows, swamp monsters, fog —
but not ghosts,
not
today.
Today,
block — seal — every crack,
close the portal, ward the veil —
on cemeteries, shops, side trips, rail cars,
the Ohio on Thanksgiving, the
plans that fell through, the
meals and goals never made.
All of that one lifetime
must stay where everyone else
last sensed it —
finding its peace
with the other lost seasons.
i.
i dreamt my mother was taken from me to fulfill my terror.
the room was white, and she came back to me in -red-
and she sat beside me with her same face and smiled,
and she stroked my hair
in a away i don’t remember my mother ever doing.
i didn’t close my eyes.
why was it so easy to pretend that
nothing was wrong?
ii.
i dreamt a monster took the the same face as my father.
the road was bright, and he struggled desperate and nails with this stranger.
a -hand- reached for me from their tangle,
and i refused those fingers like fishhooks angling towards my palm.
in the moment that followed, i realized.
i saw my father later.
mutilated in a blue cave shimmering with darkness,
he was no longer waiting for the daughter who denied him.
He sleeps unaware
of what it took to get here.
Of what it takes
to learn and love.
Of what it will take
to stay and leave.
He smiles and a stream
of milk escapes in bliss.
Skin of profound umber
hair like an obsidian cloud
visited by sharp golden stars
before it recasts itself in peacock
and sky and tangerine and magenta
lips frothy and sweet
a blueberry ICEE you want to sip
cherry eyeglasses and headphones
to match covered in a bubble helmet
a bomber jacket of all colors—
a true patriot of humanity
looking toward troposphere stratosphere
ethosphere
where all come together to honor
one another.
(A dying sound—scratching
of old hands on a coffin
of one’s own making
lips that used to spit
on others
moaning last slurs
unheard over the music
of a bustling mingling
now tumbling into
tomorrow).
smoke all the weed. eat
copious amounts of meat.
bereft of love; death by punk.
Care or concern for someone or something
things that I possess fully enough to inspire a maternal yell
tired of my, compulsions
in junior high
Concern, especially
I worry about her ten times a day at least or eleven
out of sight out of mind but not out of fingertips or shoulders
is she alone?
and is it a good alone or the kind she was that summer of sex with a straight girl?
are there bears?
there could be bears, in all her mighty swagger she is no match for a bear
or did she forget to make breakfast because
a cigarette and a coffee felt full until 11:30
and then
did she have to decide between eating her lunch and being hungry at 4,
or waiting for the appropriate time?
I don’t think she worries, about my weight, maybe, and the train
she can see me tense up in her head, yes, I bet she worries about the sardine train.
I’m concerned as an overalled friend throws lighter fluid on the fire and forgets to end the stream
I’m concerned as my sister flips off a fellow driver who could totally have a gun in his trunk
I’m concerned as she climbs to the edge of the cliff and I dial 911 preemptively
Live a little, Jesus.
We are clan proud of our young’uns.
Me with my seven and brother with more.
He always did beat me running, chasing,
Climbing, rock throwing and chess.
‘Course me being a girl was his excuse
when defeat brought yells and tears.
It just seemed to be in stone, he first,
Me, second and hoping for someday.
Someday came and I would gladly
Pitch it well over the cliff to gone forever.
His Addison and Caleb Edward, gone
When only just pipped. Mine all safe.
No answers to why, only a big hole left
for soft talk, sighs and long thoughts.
Contests are for kids, brothers are
For grown times with a place to lean,
“Your blind from the facts on who you are.” – Chuck D.
Simply flushing the toilet
only removes waste,
out of sight.
