boxes, some filled
some not
are everywhere
I have prepared a bedroom set, ready to be picked up by an eager purchaser
life is speeding along
I counted and confirmed I am approaching
residence number six in this town
east side, west side, north side
and now
central
I dig through belongings, repeat
I sort and stack, pack, toss
and for once do not take much time to reflect
there is no sentiment here
nothing negative, nothing overtly emotive
although this was the first place that was solely mine
every other residence I have shared in some form or capacity
so perhaps, I am leaving behind a first
my first place despite being middle aged when I approached
a symbol of my self sufficiency?
a sign that all will be well and currently is
well
what we never imagine experiencing
is sometimes over the next hill
I learned that the hard way but look
I am moving onto place number two
number two on the independence road
and what if…
I am ready, as ready as I am capable of being
change is warranted and there is no reason not
no reason not to change which is an interesting spot to strike out from
here I go
There it is
One foot chasing another.
Chassé
Chassé
Chassé
GRAND jeté.
Chassé
Chassé
Balancé
Chase
Chase
Throw
Chase
Chase
Try to retain your balance.
Chassé away
she breathes
Chassé away.
You remind me In the funeral home aisle, you came to me and told me that you were thinking about me two or three days ago. I put my left arm so light as air around you as if to say I miss you, too-- to suggest that you give me poetry again. So you might know I’ll write your poem upon my heart.
Bobby Sox and Saddle Shoes
Page Boy, Duck Tail, Beehive haircuts.
Skirts with multi crenoline slips
Madras plaid, blue gym Bloomers.
Short shorts and Pedal Pushers,
two-piece swim suits
home permanent waves.
Dial telephones, TV invented.
Ed Sullivan show, Elvis a star.
Blue Suede Shoes, Heartbreak Hotel
on 45 rpm, played zillions of times.
Driver’s Ed Classes,
friend slumber parties,
first cigarette.
Becoming a Flutist
school marching band,
orchestra concerts.
Frisch’s Big Boy
after each football game.
Long telephone chats
scribbled notes passed in class.
Summer sun tanning days.
At night no AC
finding ways to keep cool.
Life as it was in my teens.
-Sue Neufarth Howard
I am stuck in this negative
space
Where you are leaving you have left you are left that is
barbs and things
I wish I forgot I slang I slung I sling
These shards of
Myself
I broke I am broken I am breaking off these parts
To prove I don’t need them anymore before anyone can
hurt them hurt me hurt me with them
And I crush them in my hands
and they cut through they are cutting through they have cut through
Everywhere
And sometimes you. Sometimes they cut through you, too.
I don’t want to possess the grace anymore to kiss
My own smarting flesh, which so often you
Could and would and did.
And forgave me
For my woundedness, my woundingness, for wounding the
space
between us.
I thought
The wound
Was festering
Under my
Bandage
I left it on
Far too long
I finally
Mustered
The courage
To rip it
Off
There
Where a
Gnarly gash
Had been
Was a galaxy
Of beautiful
Freckles
Begging
For sun
A Path had been made.
A section of the wood floor was paler, and slightly lower than the edges near the cabinets.
The cracks between the wide boards had melded together in a buttery smooth varnish
made of time and the footprints of my ancestors.
Maybe with a few more decades of children running to steal bacon and sweets,
women stirring pots and putting away dishes,
reaching to answer the phone,
crossing to the open window to holler, “Supper Time,”
Maybe with a few more decades
the well-trodden center of the kitchen floor will become a trench,
smooth like the boat on a fancy sailboat.
A long slash
across the sky, incom-
plete thought, signatory line
scribed thorugh the ether so
fast it’s gone before the air of
there! is finished, a friction so
sudden it might be fiction. You
have to ask yourself if you really
saw it, that instantaneous burn that
seared itself onto your retina, the start
of it gone even as the end is fast fading.
And all of this from the mote trailing
that cometary chunk of lumpen ice
which passed this way some two
millennia past, its long slow
slog through the heavens.