Posts for June 4, 2022 (page 4)

In your class I learned about astronomical bodies
And how kids should be raised to shoot for the moon
And one day we’ll land among those bright stars,
So you landed in Amsterdam when you quit teaching.
I remember you told me my elementary acrylics
Were the closest thing you’d seen to a real Van Gogh,
And when you ran your fingertips over a replica
Of his museum sunflowers, you thought quietly of me.
“Just don’t cut off your ear” you whispered
Through the cold Atlantic wind. And I laughed.
It was funny only because you didn’t know the joke
About a scar so close but always hidden inside
Those photos of me as a fifth grader the day you left.
You’d never know how my brother rocketed my head
Through a glass coffee table at a car dealership,
And that my ear is now held on by medical sutures.
You’d never know what my life has become by now.
If I had your address I’d recount how these five years
Have pulled us through many separate universes.
I’d tell you that I’ve given up trying to reach the moon
Or even the stars. All I want now is a quiet Dutch garden
To grow flowers for other people to paint.

The other day,
I played in the dirt.
I dug around in the ground.
Under the earth was a rock of orange, white, and brown.
Too large,  too big to move around.

Help was needed from shovel and friend,

To heave and to ho,
To pry and to pry.

And to heave and to ho,
Like a tennis match.
Back and forth.
Heave,
Ho,
Pry,
Pry.

Keep trying,
You’ve almost got it.

It moved.
One inch.

But, it moved.

Keep at it.
I cheer my friend on,
Keep going,  
I can see its edges,
Keep going you got it.

One more heave,
One more ho,
Prrrrry!
Prrrrry!

Oh,  how beautiful my unearthed rock,
Orange, white, and brown.

The little girl who couldn’t sleep without me is nowhere to be found. I’ve walked this city for days, searching the ash-littered streets and alleys, the ruins left by the bombers and rockets and tanks, talking to people who pass my way. Always I ask the same question, and always I get the wrong answer. I’m thirsty and hungry without our tea and cookies. My feet hurt, but not the way my heart does. And I’ve learned something very hard and sharp that makes me hurt all over: I can’t sleep without her.

Watermelon rind and the Rockcastle River,
that plastic salt shaker (white, 
its form almost like a woman
with her hands on her hips),
grape gum from the gas station. 
Damp the moon in honey–
that’s bronze-legged summer, 1996–
when the earth was as big to me
as space is big to me now. 
The internet was a fishing line,
our shared phone a river to others.
Sometimes I miss these analog mysteries,
the way things could slow down.

occupied chair sits lonely
old tabby sitting in bareness
windows flung open sing
birds flocking north

swinging feet on the bedside
forest house reeking of empty
floorboards stained with age tell
all this woman’s stories

ribbon tied satin hair
her ocean stained fingernails
a paint set stands on the counter
in our quiet, demure life

i wanna write all my poetry about you,
sweet mayflower, your ship floats 
far away from all my fears.

i like your flaming hair, and your
grass green eyes, i want to stare into them
until mine wither away in winter wind.

baby, i’ll spend all my summer late night
talking to you, feasting on pearls and glitter —
sprinkle me with your perfume.

i ride your ship, hoist your sails
that say my name, like its the only name you’ve ever known
and i’ll wear your rose like no other exists. 

Wind blows and rain falls from the sky,
Thunder crashes by and by.
The trees bend as it draws near,
As if recoiling in great fear.
Floods form of drops of rain,
Each gust of wind’s a hurricane.
But when the skies are clear once more,
The sun will rise beyond the storm.
Reflecting off the beaded drops,
Clinging to the grass blade’s tops.
Golden in the misty sun,
Puddles form where waters run.
But the most beautiful thing of all,
Is a flower standing tall,
Water dripping from it’s top,
It grew in the storm, and now the storm’s stopped.

Dogs dozing in sun-
Light are pure proxy for the
One great self. Watch; learn.

He stands on the road, and behind him