Posts for June 9, 2019 (page 6)

Images from a London bus     lovers covered

in their own blood     their blouses stained maroon

their faces swollen and split because they refused

to kiss each other for the pleasure of teenage boys

this is an epidemic     the treatment of the world

like a copy of Grand Theft Auto or a clip from

PornHub     as if men can do anything we want

for an orgasm and in the afterglow the universe

will yell Cut! and everyone will wipe off and kiss

each other’s cheeks and take their paychecks

and share a few drinks at the pub     as if the

possession of a cock is all the excuse you’ll ever need

when really you are nothing but dirt-covered

jackbooted testosterone cunts     harvested from

endless orchards of damaged conceited penises

empty vessels of flaccid flesh      eight-bit broken

pixels left at the bottom of a garbage dump

soaked in dog piss and acid rain     leeching

into the sewers     poisoning the water supply

filling the gene pool with dead beetles and scum

“Put meat on the bones”
is what my mentor said.  

I cried inside no way, that’s fodder
I do not want to, nor cannot, begin to feed.  

Easy for you, your poems are surreal,
fantastical, full of metaphors that afford
space between heart and ache.  

My meat is fetid, yet to decompose,
still at the bottom of the bin
so odiferous it chokes when I lift the lid.  

Your handiworks are full of form,
mythology and talent, too,
things I hope to learn from you.  

Once from different worlds
now we are joined by passion
for words and for poems that singe
into ears what we massage them to hear.  

Lessons learned while looking for meat;
passions at rest are like birds in hand,
passions at play an eagle released
into the wind, swooped to soar.  

I  struggle to loose secrets thick
as a two inch cuts of beef,
I refuse to eat or serve,
but always I hear the words
that taught me to write
with freedom like first flight,

“Put meat on the bones, Catherine,
put meat on the bones”

The first time I realized the world outside the mountains seen me as different,

I ate chili that they swore to God would change my life. 

To be fair it did. 

We came polished like the diamonds they wore on their fingers 

yet they still seen us as the coal dug from our land.

When they fed us they insisted on showing us how the fork worked 

not realizing we have been feasted upon for years;

we know what your damn fork looks like. 

The preacher asked if we wanted roadkill or opossum. 

The preacher laughed when we didn’t know what to say back. The preacher acted like we were just dumbfounded by his cleverness.

My tongue felt like my own weapon but I wasn’t allowed to reload. 

You see in the house of God we are told to be kind 

to be humble 

to welcome those who seem a little lost 

yet when I walked by the room I could hear them saying they needed a mountain boy to move something for them.

I could hear them laughing at us 

as they imagined what it was like to walk among us. 

They were  only a few hours away from the hills yet were somehow better because they were on the other side. 

The preacher asked if we wanted roadkill or opossum.  

This time we stood behind him on the pulpit, held captive by ignorance. 

His congregation laughed.

We did not.

I felt smaller than the man but not less than him. 

I knew to mind my manners even  as my tongue started begging to be set free. 

Because that’s what they want; a stereotype to come alive before their very eyes. 

We were in the house of the Lord and still not among his kindest but that wouldn’t justify what I wanted to say to him. 

I knew he would never understand the countless times we had heard the same jokes about our teeth. He didn’t know what it was like  to cautiously dance around  certain words so he wouldn’t seem uneducated. 

He didn’t know the feeling of being behind in the world all because of a few mountains. 

I set my love on fire
And sent it to the sun
I told it, please, to burn and die
I told it I was done. 

It returned to me in seven years
In friendship it was hidden
I knew its voice and asked it
Why had it returned unbidden.

It, true to form, gave no reply,
But smiled and showed me kindness
I, true to form, gave in too soon
And sooner cursed my blindness. 

Now 15 years have passed between
No vows or oaths to bind me
This curse alone upon my head
In darkness comes to find me. 

How do you die a million times
While here among the living? 
You love someone who does not know
Or care what you are giving.

I know where they went those decades ago.
Chasing fairies in the swamps that hide among the cypress knees
where the brown water flows meandering through forgotten trees. 

The science books of our youth portrayed dinosaurs as long lost animations
we knew that was a fantasy story rife with limitations.

They had only taken another shape in the form of alligators, lizards and armadillos
the beasts could be seen daily between the ferns and palmettos. 

Sprites dance just out of sight and glide away gracefully as we come near splashing through the cypress stained currents ever so clear. 

The trolls could never outrun us because of their size
they hide in plain sight being masters of disguise. 

I knew where the children went on those hot summer days
they made up games and swam and ran in their own way. 

They made toys with sticks and string,
made up words of songs to sing,
raced for no prize or thing,
pretended they were kings. 

Motivated by the earned knowledge of never saying, I have nothing to do while mildly complaining.

It’s a full house,
the pair of us
and three of their kind.
I bet I don’t – 
and won’t – 
know all the hands
they’ve ever played,
but I know
there’s a shark at the table.

I hold the ace of diamonds,
curious about the cards
they’ve been dealt:
do they feel like kings?
what’s the status of the queens?
how often have they tried to bluff?

These first rounds make me
feel a little blind,
new to their nuance,
unsure of the face I put forward.
I can’t speak for them,
but there are no cards up my sleeve,
only a little beginner’s luck.

A rock knocked me in the head –
when I awoke
my dream was repossessed

by the process server
waiting in the bushes
with a subpoena   

by the holy robber hidden
in sense impressions stealing
what I didn’t know I had
until I lost it  

by the high sheriff
executing levy
against my assumptions  

by the grand landlord
the omnipresent tsunami  
the implacable omniscience
to whom all rent is due        

That feeling after
    picking dried Elmer’s glue
    off your fingertips,
    or finishing the leftovers
    right before grocery day
    and leaving an empty fridge,
    or finally tonguing that
    popcorn shell
    you’ve been working on all morning.

That’s how I feel every time
    I no longer hear my toddler in the other room
    and get images from
    Final Destination movies
    or the phone pole scene from
    Hereditary
    and I race to find you
    reading a book or playing with your toys
    and you smile at me
    like everything’s fine.

Rush rush the wings
And chirrups 
Fluttering and rustling

It’s closing
Day’s garish glow
And frantic noise

Lips and fireflies
Condensation on drink
And unconscious awareness of 

Leaves whispering
Mountains breathing
Pulse of rotating earth

Earthen orb balanced 
So many hands uplifted
Light varying

Varying

And then the night swallows

We all
Dream and awaken
Create and destroy
Embrace and reject
Love has no opposites
Body, mind, soul, spirit
Spirit awake beyond
All awakings