Posts for 2020 (page 113)

Pine Mountain Cemetery XIV
The Reverend Mr. White

It being Sunday and all of us blocked
Out of our paid for and beloved pews,
My mind drifts back to The Rev. Mr. White.

Such a list of firsts, he employed me
To care for the nursery, not much more
Than a child myself. Adults back then

Gave you twelve years and then expected
You to behave as if you had some sense.
Second, he baptized me, washed me clean of

Whatever sins I had accumulated by then,
Too bad his cleansing isn’t more frequent,
Since my sins grow in number and consequence.

Third, he promoted me to church secretary. A
Grown-up job, smart enough to brag to others.
Type, file, run errands, answer phone. Perching

There in high cotton I was. Still just fifteen with
Enough money to buy precious penny loafers.
Never again would I have to wear lace-up oxfords.

Fourth, he urged me to go to Church Camp, if
There ever was a paradise on earth, that is where
You would find it. A perfect time, tears sprout in reverie.

Fifth, he sent me packing to investigate Transy,
Changed my life, grew me up, gave me a picture
Of a world I could grab and own for myself.

Sixth, he married me, on a hot day in August,
Handed my groom a handkerchief during prayer,
Getting married is hot work, he blessed it.

Saints are named at other hierarchical posts,
But resting over there, in case they miss one
Is the closest thing to a saint you might ever know.

Soft nose nudge.
Lips wrap my fingers.
Wet velvet.  

Snickering,
a one-eyed gelding
takes tall clover
from my hand.  

We both lean
into the fence.

I’ve eaten whole fish

Mouth agape

Eyes sunken from the oven 

Told as I shred the meat away 

to pluck each hair-thin rib 

Carefully 

I’ve eaten crab

Cracked shells with brute strength 

Dug flesh out with my fingernails 

Ravaged a steamed body 

Senselessly 

I’ve ripped apart chicken wings

Twisted the joint until knuckles popped apart 

Sawed open a femur to boil out the marrow 

Violently 

Ravenously 

Devoured. 

When I’ve told people that I care for two snakes

They always mention 

‘I could never feed a snake mice. 

They’re already dead, right?’ 

And

‘Do you keep it in the fridge? 

By your FOOD?”

Yes

And yes

Unlike the crabs. 

Unlike the chickens. 

Unlike the cow and pig and shrimp and turkey and duck and- 

Unlike those whose bodies I have savaged to consume. 

A snake is far more polite. 

She strikes

She strangles an already lifeless body, 

and waits for the quiet of death 

She arranges the body in her coils

And simply 

Swallows. 

No blood

No bones

No sunken eyes

Knife glistening with fat 

Or ribs piled to the side

I keep them in my freezer

Because they are meat. 

Sleeping

Whole

Soft 

Unbroken 

The mice are named food 

And then they are gone. 

accept a connection

The accept call is used
with connection-based types.

It extracts the first connection request on the queue.

The newly created argument
is filled with communications.

The exact format is determined by family
(see the man).

when a new connection is attempted
you may accept.

saves extra calls to achieve the same result.

See the description for reasons
why this may be useful.

ERRORS

no connections are present to be accepted.
check for possibilities.
A connection has been aborted.
The call was interrupted before a valid connection arrived;
The limit has been reached.

Listening behavior differs from the canonical implementation. should always explicitly accept.

historical implementations required this, and applications are wise to include it.

There may not always be a connection waiting
the connection might have been removed
by another.

If this happens, then call for the next connection to arrive.

certain protocols require an explicit confirmation. Confirmation can be implied, and rejection can be implied.

Currently, only semantics.

—
Found poem (erasure) from the Linux Man Pages. The original text can be found at:

https://man7.org/linux/man-pages/man2/accept.2.html

One
Ubiquitous
Call I
Hearken to, to
Settle my self when
Troubled,
One who brings me back like
No one and nothing
Else can.

How long will you feel like home to me?
How long will you feel like home?

Writing in my car

not texting,
but shaping words
in my head

instead
of words
that sing–

or get tossed
upon the page–
I imagine.

I imagine,
without a page,
my words are lost

upon
the world,
so writing

this morning,
my words unfurled,
is a stone

to trip a reader
down side up.

Today is a treat, today I get red eye gravy
ham frying up on the stove
a heart beat of my childhood memories
red eye gravy — a rich, thick, salty, coffee recipe

Frying up on the stove
a southern smell of fat-rich food
red eye gravy — its secret is in the coffee 
cooked into it
I can smell the ham cooking 
the gravy with its button holes

The smell of home
it gets into the being
I can smell that uniquely rich scent
Salty country ham, biscuits, red eye gravy

My Doctor wouldn’t approve
but he isn’t here
this meal is heart rich 
home cooking, soul enriching
southern food, with its fried up 
salty, rich comfort
Today is a treat, today I get red eye gravy

I’m weak,
But is that such a bad thing,
From weakness comes bonds,
From bonds come strength,
Brotherhood is the most powerful source of strength,
These bonds of brotherhood are so strong,
Even the most powerful are nothing against them

She was walking with me in the garden,
I said do you want to have some lunch with me.
She didn’t trust my eyes.
I said come with me I don’t bite.
She wondered if she should go back to him.

I said I’ve been wandering back and forth on the earth.
I’ve popped in and out of it.
I’m glad I’ve found you.

I’m going to kiss you.

Hold still.

She confided in me… she liked my experience.
And just then she took… a bite.

It was not hard to persuade him to do it too. 
The two of them were so very…  very nice.

Raucous 3 a.m. clatter
at the 53rd Street Dominican
bar. I’ve moved to Brooklyn
from an island with no
incorporated town & two stop
signs. A noisy day
when I could hear eagles
mating from the deck. Face

to face with fear — or was it
prejudice? Big cities mean double
deadbolts, murder, mace. Eyes
down on the subway. I waited.
It took months but the city’s chattering
pandemonium became a living
body. Bar racket began
to remind me of a tree

of crows. The constant shish of cars
& buses became a lingering
rainstorm. There were moments
when the incessant clanging
bundled & surged
like a Beethoven
crescendo. Tap of boot
heels and stilettos in long

subway tunnels rolled back
to me as wind
& wave. I learned
to keep my eyes open, look
forward, reimagine dread. Flip
a nightmare
on its deafening
head.