i don’t like how the red wine
stains my teeth,
but i never mind the white.
it gnaws at the enamel,
exposing the nerves while
calming my own
and in a tipsy,
capital t Textbook anxiety dream of
teeth falling out
i clench my jaw and
wear my canines down
night after night,
until my partner wakes me up to tell me that
i’m doing it again;
until water stings when it’s too cold;
until my dentist tells me
i should try not to be so
stressed out
all the time;
it’s not good for my
teeth.
Now Jack,
he’s a country boy,
country boy born and bred.
On’y time he’s ever in th’city‘swhen
he’s lookin’ fer a shortcut home.
And Kevin?
Well, Kevin’s a country boy through and through,
‘ceptin’ Kevin’s born’n’bred in th’city.
Lives in the city, too.
That’s how they do it now, y’know,
that there ain’t no jobs left down’n the country
unlessen
maybe
you’re a doctor who sells drugs.
I ain’t try’n t’tell ya Kevin lived downtown,
exactly,
but he lived close
or close enough.
I mean on any day his truck din’t run
th’man could walk there
in a easy hour
if he hap’t’lack the money for the bus.
I mean he coulda asked for help
or hitched a ride from som’un
‘cept these country-fried
city-folk
like Kevin,
they kinda keep unto theirselves,
y’know,
and only haunt the rest of us
when they’re doin’ a piece of work for pay, leastwise
to us outsiders
that’s the way it seems.
The thing about a lot of ’em
that you gotta un’erstan’
is they do good work
and that was true of Kevin
and the crew he hung with, too.
And please don’t git alarmed here
but it’s prob’ly safest if you know
they stick together,
these folk.
I mean
a couple of ‘em
could be havin’ themselves
a –
whatchacallit? –
feud
but if you or me or
som’un else from outside’d
dare go after one’a them
th’whole dang bunch
on both sides of the feud
’d go after that outsider
all together
‘n beat ‘em to a bloody pulp
afore they recommenced to feudin’.
My frien’ Ann told me ‘bout the time
she was workin’ in their neighborhood
when word went out
the po-lice was out there lookin’
for a boy
who’s head was shaved
and who
when he’s last seen
was wearin’ a bright red shirt.
Nex’ day, Ann said,
every kid in the neighborhood wore red
and all of them had shaved their head.
Please un’erstan’ I don’ mean nothin’ by this –
not negative nor pos’tive neither –
but
I never once met Kevin
until he’s maybe forty-fi’ or maybe forty-six.
Still
if you’re askin’ my opinion
yep
you’re right
I know his hair woulda’ grown back in by then
but I swear he did look good in red
and,
outsider that I really am,
just sensin’ who Kevin might’a been
made me try t’ talk like him.
dye fabric with homegrown flowers
plant vegetables
take all these things, put them in a jar
remove each, complete one by one,
repeat
Today, what hit me
was no spidery writing,
no sweet saved sticker,
No envelope stuffed
with dream catchers, some note pads
and birthday greetings
Still, we thought you were
seeing him a final time
which was the first time
Instead, what we had
was thirteen more years
of his great grandma
my seven year old sister self
wears the braid i weaved in her hair
even the next day, shadow
of my hands’ work tousling
halo-like around her head. her curls fall
everywhere, like footsteps. (like rain.)
she tells me she wishes her hair was straight
and i say
it’s like
putting a minefield to sleep
asking a flower to kneel
naming another body flat
pressing god’s eyes shut
i once did too
Three Chords and the Truth
Grew up admiring the Grand Ole Opry,
inducted into a relationship–the gift
that’s a little bit shaky.
A lot of the time I find
myself wishing that I could rewind
all the moments that I missed throughout my life,
either due to daydreaming, or zoning out
or just losing track of time.
I wish I could backspace
or ctrl+alt+delete
or press the back arrow
and do it all over again.
When I’m online
it’s easy to rewind
and retrieve every bit
of all my lost time.
But in life,
all that time
that I once called mine
is all now long gone,
somewhere I’ll never find.
I remember all those years ago
When I was happy, and you were too.
We spent our summers giggling,
Flirting with the camp counselor,
All of us named the same,
Alice, Lisa, Elise
We spent our days in bathing suits
Pulling the grass from our toes
Squealing when it brushed our bellies as we swam,
Laying on the docks in sun kissed bodies,
Alice, Lisa, Elise.
We ran everywhere, too excited to walk,
Too impatient to wait one second more
To meet up at the rock. Just a rock,
It’s memorial plaque long unread.
We made noise until old ladies shushed us from their windows,
Floral nightgowns waving us home
And we scattered into the lamplight,
Boys and girls, dreaming of one another.
