This Sway and That
I can tell you what
the poets and hips don’t do
–you wish I’d show you–
meaning my sonnets of course,
when you quit being so coarse.
I can tell you what
the poets and hips don’t do
–you wish I’d show you–
meaning my sonnets of course,
when you quit being so coarse.
it all boils down to semantics
The moon is all
One more glass before bed.
(you started at lunch)
You slur a bit, fumble.
Your greatest strengths
and your greatest folly,
born out of your youth,
borne out.
Your beautiful identity
bobbing on the surface of living.
shredded carpet
one hundred pairs of shoes
eight names in sharpie on wooden drawers
winding stairs
voices in the walls
secondhand furniture
leftover pizza
forgotten laundry
half dead dog
grandfather clock
children’s drawings on the fridge
mewling kitten
stained glass windows
faded floral wallpaper
red door
antique key
frame with no photo inside
The mosquitoes lay their eggs
Inside my open mouth. I am still
As I stare at the white sun.
My garden melts around me.
In the heat I become a stone angel,
Dead leaves pooling in the crook
Where my wings break through skin.
I have seen seasons and none
Have shown me enough beauty
To ever be satisfied. So instead
I become the mother of so much
Suffering. Look at all I can give:
These thousand unformed wings
Inside my throat are bound to rise
In the damp afternoon and scavenge
For blood. And there is so much
On this fertile soil to freely take.
White-knuckled grip on the wheel
he glances over his shoulder
guns the gas
merges into morning rush-hour.
Another first.
Stuck in gridlock
other conquests playback…
toddling on sweet chubby legs
running to beam a gap-toothed mouth
gliding across the ice after a shutout.
I glance at this man-child
imagine more adventures…
prom, graduation, college, marriage, fatherhood.
As he eases into the school parking lot,
my stomach lurches.
Will there be more firsts?
Will he even come home today?
Or will he become another statistic
of this sacrificed generation?
Coconut Fried Rice
Walnut Broccoli with Tofu ~ not too spicy
Fish Filet with Black Bean Sauce, red bell peppers & garlic
Mu Shu Vegetables with four pancakes & black bean paste
Topped off with Mango Lassi and
two free
Tropical Fruit Custard Pudding Desserts
Joyce, our favorite waitress, calls out to us each time we come
“Oh, so happy see you, makes my heart so so happy ~ your regular order?”
“Yes Please!”
“I make best one for you!”
The deliciously artful Coconut Rice Boys and generous Joyce
never fail to please
she bought me a shot of moonshine
at the town social
didn’t get arrested, then we
waved at friends, shook some hands
hugged a few people even
never mind the last two years
we’re soaring now
there’s always a danger
when this thing happens
because sometimes
things don’t turn back on
it’s happened
standing in the dark
on a road with no car
or no promise of tomorrow
sitting in a narrow hot trailer
with no room of my own
while people got high
and laughed in the living room
sleeping in an office
pretending to everyone
that I wasn’t scared
of not having a place
to call my own
I cannot count
the amount of air matresses
that I’ve slept on
in an empty place
knowing it’s going
to start again
then you came along
and told me I was better
than what everyone said
something
beneath your voice
that I found in the sweat
on your skin
to make me believe you
and all those things I lost
before
didn’t seem like losses
at all
but a means to an end
to get to this moment
of you and I
