Posts for June 18, 2021 (page 6)

death is yellow
birth – white
marriage – green
divorce – blue
 
the first hour i wait
beneath an orange
crayon sign: A/C Out
as a line of Latina mothers
snake around the tables
to the white forms
inscripcion escolar
nacimiento no defuncion

next with bellies over belts
a boisterous crew of mates
shoving to get passports
for the bahamas

then bureaucratic lunch break,
when a warring couple shout
about nombre de soltera de la madre
a guard puts his hand
on his holster, sudden silence screams:
sweat waits soberly with us

now in front of me at the counter
a baby wiggles in a woman’s arms,
a grandmother’s custody case
but nobdy knows nombre del padre;
finally a black woman with patient eyes
and white tee with Change of Heart
looks my way

my name is called

Long perfect green curls
White tart flesh sliced
Spices sifted butter dotted

Flour fat water combined
Smoothed shaped sealed
Signed with a flourish

Quivering noses peek
Through long-closed doors
Dishes clatter coffee poured

man’s cathedrals
scant structures
to the mesa’s
faces that loom
above  purple-gray
doeskin-tan umber-orange
call me to worship
something
larger

Means seeing things that aren’t there.
Faces frown and smile at me
from sidewalks, doorknobs, cloudbanks…
Squat fire hydrant transforms to
three-year-old standing roadside,
red-and-yellow clad—Dear God!
Where in hell are her parents?

The wind this morning
Speaking through the leaves
About impermanence
And the possibilities
That whisper past

What is this? This is just your life. So, you do your part, and the rest is clear.            
                              —Elihu Genmyo Smith  

Just over the rise, my eyes
are drawn to a black calf
trotting downhill to the fence
line where a mother cow
and another calf stand, all
illuminated by June sun
calling up another day.

Cows mirrored in mist, me
passing, we go on with our
given stories, theirs of grass
and dew, milk and growing.
Let them eat, let them
eat in cool morning light,
what do any of us know
but this moment?

It was a sticky summer day                                 (sweltering)

Annie Lennox belted,   “Nooooooo
                                                            moooooooore
                                                                         I
                                                                                love yous ”     
 her words fell with the melody,

c    a       
   r     c                   e  d
                 k     l                                through broken speakers

We played that song on loop for a month except when

time.                    froze.                       briefly.

My best friend        (Theresa)             flew through the air

                           s           o           a         r         e        d        actually,

while wearing her ill-fitting flower print bikini        (that she loved despite all the adjusting)

she ffffffffffffaaaaaaaaaadeeeeeed to a shadow
                                                                                                ((((eclipsing))) the sun   

                                           throwing her hands into the air,
 
s               p           r           e         a         d        i         n         g              her fingers wide

k-i-c-k-i-n-g          her legs like a frog 

            launching herself above the water

Only to startle, to break form when her brother shouts:

“THERESAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

and she falls faster than a cannon ball 

                     becoming fragments of   an                EXPLOSION!            in the water.

Jumping from the tool shed’s roof
           into a shallow pool
                           without supervsion
                                                               and  reaching for the wire that should not be above us

pretending to be like the pro-wrestlers our older siblings forced us to watch pummel one                    another  on television

                                                   We just wanted to fly.   
                           It’s every kid’s dream.   
                It was our dream.   
We were every kid.

that’s how we occupied the last summer of our friendship

only we didn’t know it until it was too late and the pieces of us

s              
                                c                           a 

                                                                             t                        t
                      er   
                                                        ed

And years later we face the hard truth— that we all can’t be high-flyers

We can’t all be Superfly Jimmy Snuka.

The cat is broken again.
Lying quietly on his back, legs splayed, belly floof exposed.
Only the tail hints at life, twitching slowly.

I will not, I say. I will not.
But I do.

One finger placed gently in the middle of his belly.
An eye opens.
Two fingers now, gently rubbing.
The other eye opens.
Three fingers now, moving in a slow circle.
Front legs wrapped around my arm back legs disemboweling the enemy teeth gently biting my wrist.

The cat is fixed.

Let black-eyed susan, cornflower, daisy
turn their faces to the sun, sing hallelujah. 

Let maple, oak, and cedar hum along, give
thanks by giving home to deer and squirrel. 

Let the turtle give thanks to the pond,
let the pond give thanks to the rain. 

Let the hawk give thanks to the high sky,
let the mouse give thanks to the tall grass. 

Let robin, cardinal, mocking bird praise
the rising heat of day. 

Let soft-winged bat and owl praise
the coming cool of night. 

as if on cue
              calling caws
        (up hollow)

 crowing under
  hawk
      winds
blow

one and two
      caw
      hawk and
    crow-

unflocked 
        silver
          in a
murderous
            row