Things In an Asian Market
Radishes long as
your arm. Lychees like hedgehogs.
The smell of the sea.
Two new thyme shoots emerge
suddenly as the snip.
Imagine loving yourself this way:
Trying twice more for every
hurt place.
Routing through my maze
of wild wretched worries
a stream of why’s, whats wrong, what’s well
I ask how to be the warden of
my whims and wants
how to wrestle my thoughts
what whimsy will take me
wallowing, weeping
making waves with words
wedding with words
to help right the wrongs
work for a tapestry of love.
-Sue Neufarth Howard
Smear similes over the sentiment,
metaphors over the meaning,
rhymes over the reality.
Paint the poem in
an abundance of alliterations,
allusions obligating Herculean effort,
any concoction of consonance or assonance
or meter or repetition or form or words or poetics:
paint over the purpose.
And with these coverups,
it’ll sound pretty, won’t it?
It’ll be pretty,
won’t it?
emotions pushed into single words
are dangerous.
anger. rage. hurt. sad. grief.
not big enough.
not important enough.
just lines on a page.
a path worn down with familiarity;
the view losing its
breathtaking power
because you’ve seen it before.
:
condensed into a tight box.
nice and neat.
topped with a bow.
but what i am feeling is
overflowing.
bursting forth.
uncontained.
i don’t know.
i don’t know.
i don’t know.
after Billy Collins’ Forgetfulness
The high heels are the first to go, the pumps and the strappy
numbers, followed by the ballroom shoes no longer tolerable
despite their careful engineering and fine craftsmanship.
Even the forest green corduroy flats, leather-bottomed,
with the cross-strap you sewed to keep them on for salsa or swing,
alas, left your ankles wobbly and your knees bewildered.
Off to the Salvation Army the platforms, wedges, espadrilles,
admittedly fairly worn. Long ago you said goodbye to all the size 7s
from before you were pregnant, the customized inserts that never worked,
the Birkenstocks that now irritate your fallen arches, the cute sandals
that no longer support you. As for the sturdy Keens (not too soft and not too hard),
you still search for the model that did not blister your toes.
To date you’ve dodged your parents’ SAS classics thanks to the folks
at Nike who have kindly morphed their sneakers from lace-ups to Velcro
and now Slip-Ons for those no longer inclined to reach fingers to feet.
Instructed never to dance or walk in the garden barefoot, you still cheat a little
but retired the flip flops that sent you to the pavement. With a vision before you
of terry cloth bedroom slippers with openings cut out for your bunions
(like Anne Bancroft in Home for the Holidays), it is no wonder
you reminisce of years you walked, buoyant in your earth-smelling russet suede
moccasins, fringed at the ankles, no sole, no socks, nothing but a fold of paper towel between feet, smooth hide and the pavement. No worries.
1. If you are ________, this procedure isn’t for you.
2. If you are ________, you should delay having this procedure.
3. If you are ________, this procedure could change your life.
Word Bank:
Angry Sad Hysterical
Experienced this homily
full throttle this year
Forced to isolate
Spent days with no
human contact
Something broke inside me.
Grief overwhelmed me:
for my departed spouse,
far away family,
friends,
social contacts.
An involuntary island.
Can I ever recover
and return to the
mainland?
It bursts upon dawn-stage
from half-cup nest tangle
of twigs grafted to brick
old cold chimney
trailing soot rocketing past nets
of ivy clutch of near-trees
suspended in half-light
from the final star
swoop sweep dive
singular aerial bolero
wing-stroke pause
stamps blue
with its pulse flawless
performance this is
how day breaks into
applause how to be
a survivor
