the night my husband died
I put on an insulated parka
I wore it for more than a year
and then a day came
when all three of my dogs began howling with an ambulance siren
and howled for a good minute after it had passed by
and I laughed at their odd chorus
and I marveled at my laughter
and found myself no longer wearing that heavy coat
She asked if he had absinthe
He told her she would know great bliss
You needn’t give your name
Come right this way
She asked if he had more cocaine
He said you’re done here
You won’t come this way again
She eyed him quizzically
He laughed and put her on the list
She asked if he had heroin to serve
He said you’re done girl, mixed with China White
He said three times a charm
She didn’t know him, viewed him quizzically
Without alarm
He didn’t need a list. Good memory
What’s left of us
but old echoes
of tender escalation
broken circle watermarks
on the kitchen island
smatterings of herb
and ash across
the otherwise empty
expanse
friend of urge, forest of want
my language always heaving
as smooth as honey
chanted in sweat
we rose to do the mad thing –
why be lazy about death?
Don’t worry
Eventually we all come to terms
With who we are and who we have been
Don’t regret doing what you did
For even the best men have dirt on their hands
It’s so fuckin’ hot
I can’t think of anything
but how much I need
to plunge my head
in a freezer
I’m wedged into the rush
of other runners surging forward,
falling back. Hundreds of shoes slap
the pavement in a stampede of sound.
The air is organic with odors of sweat,
perfume, the street. Concentrated
breathing broadcasts in stereo. All ears
are tuned in for times called out
at one mile, two. My mind is tight,
focused on the goal:
I just want to finish.
Volunteers offer paper cups of water
scooped up by the other racers,
but not by me. No distractions, no loss
of momentum. I crunch across discarded
cups, ignoring my spitless mouth.
Lungs burn, skin stings, legs plead to stop.
One more block, one more block,
my inner-space pep talk. I round
the corner to the final stretch.
You can do it! spectators cheer. Above
bobbing heads, I can see FINISH bannered
over the street. Another quarter mile,
and I lunge across that line.
My legs are rubber bands. My mouth
is a sand dune. I’m coughing, gasping.
Even my hands are sweating.
But if you plugged me in,
I could charge your cell phone.
It’s so easy to climb on the horse
of self-righteous indignation
Especially riding near the back
Where chances of challenge are minimal
In my life it’s been the pigs
Then the bible thumpers ( a perennial hatred favorite)
The evil stupid smokers
And then back to the ol’ standby
Racism
Oh, the evil old fat white men
Some wearing MAGA hats
You might yell “I’m not one of them, I’m gay”
but you are
As a poet you ought to know words mean things
If you believe in race, you’re a racist
If you place them into their categories
And form stereotypical opinions, you’re a bigot
If you take action because of your opinions,
You’re evil and dangerous
I’m feeling small and uncomfortable
Who is it okay to mock?
Or spit in their face
Or hit with this rock?
You might be terrified to know
That I only have exactly as much respect for you
As you have for me
The rain has drenched the garden
and everything greens, everything grows,
the sun covering all. A strawberry come late
is blistered by today’s 91 degrees. But
the blackberries that drop at the slightest touch,
such warm plump fruit.
