Posts for June 3, 2019 (page 7)

The Fourth Night

The fourth night
she was no longer aware,
only twice did she look
head jerking up, unfocused contact
eyes rolling to the ceiling
the strength of her clenching  
diminished
96 hours of pained cries fading

The fourth night
I turned off the music
and continued to be
the heartbeat in her ear.
as the world silenced
she shook violently on her side
her face blue
I was certain she was dying

—

Last night,
outside the pool she shivered
every syllable slowed down,
exaggerated
“For strength,” she said
and kissed me.
Moving less like a stringed puppet,
now more like a little girl
she again carried my heart away

they chew the earth’s bruised and purple fungus

and say to one another, 

Xiauh ica cualtizin

the wax sky of trapped dreams melt down the horizon

tree trunks and branches grow along their peripheral

music drenches the inside of their skulls in endless colors

a drum beat of ancient origin  

nature’s hot, steamy breath coats them

smelling of dampness of birth of oblivion

cochleas vibrate as the indigenous wisdom 

is whispered in their ears

their tongues heavy with the taste of otherworldly truth

and the pungent pollutions of human souls

roam the ground with warning sounds

mother, mother! What shall we do?

their cries are drowned in the spiraling dome of ink

above, the sun bruised and bloodied 

bleeds onto them

dousing them in molten visions 

they drown in their own minds 

Trying to time planting my roma beans,

wanting maturity when I’ll be home to harvest,

is like working a puzzle, one of my weaker talents.

Can I compare life to a large bowl of cooked beans;

can I time my coming and going as if I’m actually in charge;

is harvest a mere puzzle that one must hone her talents

toward. The harvest of beans, a talent one may learn,

but the beans, the rain, the moon are all in charge

of maturity dates. 

–Melva Sue 

Her basement was loaded with Native American
arrowheads, figurines, and other decrepit artifacts.
A row of dust-covered guns lined the back wall
next to an alarming amount of fossilized fish bones.

None of them, though,
were as captivating as her leathery brown face
that opened wide to expose her decaying teeth
as she scoured through timeworn encyclepedias of her history.

The next morning
she cooked me sweet-smelling pancakes,
the gooey chocolate chips melting into
the shape of a smiley face. 

I’ll have to see you in a couple weeks
and I wonder if we’ll walk through the gate  

again, back to the night when I just showed up at your door.
It’s always at sunset. Me with balloons, lit  

with silver led bulbs, what am I
even doing with these fireflies and  

paper lanterns? We mark them with permanent markers
and walk through the park to the playground. Sit on swings. 

You write the word    i-n-t-e-n-t-i-o-n 

And we count
               one, two, three— Release.   

& yours gets caught in a tree.
& we walk back in the snow. 

And you know that it is always like this
In-between us—something measurable,
& entangled in the air.

Another mouth to the microphone please-
everything they say is gibberish to me – 
waiting for a catch that won’t be a pleabe- 
maybe I’m thinking too much with my ding-a-ling

blonde curls speak elegantly-
i hear what she says as if she’s talking to me- 
1st place baby, the beauty queen- 
but who am I to judge if my lense is horny 

i got dive bombed by a red wing blackbird
coming around that steep curve
right after you hit the blacktop.
there was a crunch and a thunk
and my heart hurt for the little wild thing,
but i reckoned the worst was over.
then came a flutter and a scrape

and a feeling of dread as i stopped the car
and my stomach hit the gravel
of the freewill baptist parking lot.
there was the broke neck bird,
poor little wild thing,
stuck tight
and chirping a dangling death knell.
the country girl in me

knew i should end the misery
of those broken legs and broken wings.
but i couldn’t do it through the tears
so i pulled it loose and laid it down
and left it there to die
beneath that big oak tree.
poor, poor, little wild thing.

Did you know that I watch for you
when I’m in my car?
That I see you from afar,
your glorious crown rising high above
the canopy of lesser trees?

Did you know that I notice – 
I ponder you as you transform,
your limbs a blinding bleached white in winter months,
then mottled shades
of brown and gray and faintest green
as chlorophyll surges
up and down and through your sturdy trunk in
spring and summer?

What is it that inspires me, that
captures
my imagination?
Your splendor one of nature’s many
gifts.

Cy-
press,
o-
live,
grape
vine,
pine–
kali-
mera,
kali-
spera,
arrivederci—
good
bye. 

your smile is soft,
for a second i think it’s for me.

i look over my shoulder to see who you’re really looking at,

a bee lands on a flower behind me.

my heartbeat quickens.

i still love you,
i bite my tongue.

i’ll add princess diana to my mental do not disturb list.

corn dogs to the do not eat menu.

the first purge to my unwatch file.

maybe i should stop taking those buzzfeed quizzes,
there’s no way they really know my soulmates zodiac sign.
how could they, solely based off the hilariously bad date i’ve planned?
is the average taurus particularly into popping pimples and eating ham and cucumber sandwiches?

the list of songs i should never listen to always ends up in my queue anyway.

how did i get where i am today?
i shouldn’t have come today.

this is the worst game of hide and seek,
you’re searching for her, i’m searching for you.

it’s easy for bees and spiders to hide
but it’s also easy to get squashed.