Red Dread
sun my nemesis
sunblock heavy enemy
of my enemy
Turkey vultures picked at his lifeless body
on the road before me
i looked away.
He was a baby raccoon hit by a car left
to die all alone.
Another one of life’s painful moments
i couldn’t bear to watch.
I had never made a pie,
but this was the one
you always ordered.
I found a recipe,
and either walked or
biked to the store-
I only recall
hoping regular limes
would do the trick.
It did not quite
hang together,
and the color was off,
but oh that crust –
butter, graham crackers!
Prettily filling the Pyrex.
You drank too much
on your birthday
to give it a taste,
and the next night,
I was saving it for you
to try, to see I tried, but
he cut a jagged slice,
proclaimed it sour,
and tossed the whole thing.
I never knew
if you even recalled
that I made it.
Our clock has begun
to show its age.
Seconds slip
between its fingers,
shine with memory,
shatter softly.
I do not know
if the minutes lost
have withered
to nothing
or if they, like us,
live on.
i promised i would write about you
but i can’t
for i fear that whatever i wrote
would never graze all that you truly are,
offer, and posses.
what all you mean to me.
so i won’t
for it would put you to shame
so please forgive me
for i fear this is the best that i can do.
i promise i shall never break another promise,
or at least try not to.
There are times…
To be had
Fit to be tied
Hard times,
Sometimes,
And
In between
Times.
When I want to run
Hide away
I can’t.
Couldn’t.
Even if I tried.
The way
the syllables
Of my name
Wrap around
your tongue
Drawing me in.
Always.
they’re going to start
up the collider this July
and there’s no proof
that it does anything
to our universe
but just in case
I’ll write your name
across my ribs
down my spine
imprint your voice
to be the first thing
I hear
if it all comes crashing
cause no matter what
there’s no reality
worth it
without your red electric
the same friend’s family vacation as last june.
the same awkward pleasantries,
the same cousins playing card games,
the same jokes about needing to lose weight
(I brought carrot cake),
the same going to bed before 10pm.
the same passive aggressive,
“look how she reacts when I hug her!”
the same complete and utter lack
of self-awareness.
the same feeling of no one in this room
really wants to be here.
the same house,
the same pullout couch bed,
the same counting down the hours
until we can go home.
everything about this trip is exactly the same.
except this year
I don’t have wine.
The sun is disappearing little by little
or is it minute by minute?
What I mean to say is that the end
is coming, the end of summer,
the end of this man-made time,
the clock on the wall twisted
into some unknown language
the birds will never understand.
But they do understand light
and dark and the unbearable heat
that cooks their young
until they abandon the nest
and flies are seen
swarming around it.
there’s a poem in the attic
in the yard
through the blinds
there’s a poem in the rain
around the corner
no one minds
you may find one in your sleep
on your pillow
in a drawer
even when you’ve seen them all
you’ll still run
into more
they bloom full into morning
until dusk
into the night
making pictures cinematique
they play it out
just right
while making whispery rattlings
entering
everywhere
poets choose words carefully, then
measure, stir
with care
because more poems are waiting
down the hall
on the stairs
poets ready with their tackle, mind
and roomy
snares
not just ghostly still in silence
aloof with
gentle heart
but see them now a wild bunch
embracing
radical art
