Posts for June 1, 2023 (page 7)

Yesterday I built shelves with my dad.
We did not bicker or stew in bitter silences.

Upon his second suggestion of different trim 
to finish the sides, I said it sounded great. 

I held flush the edges. He sighted the nail gun. 

There was a day I would have fought over
that half inch, but not yesterday and not tomorrow. 

We admired our work at the end of the day.
The kitchen smelled like sweat and sun and wood. 

We built the shelves to outlast us both. 

Perhaps when the next owner remodels
this kitchen, they’ll pause for a moment
before ripping the shelves off the wall
and notice a thing made with care.

Maybe they’ll feel a tinge of loss when they
toss them into a rented dumpster and replace
them with something they love. Maybe
they’ll keep them like they kept their
grandmother’s cardigan after realizing
such a sweater, while slightly out
of fashion, can’t be bought again. 

“Isn’t it sad,” she says when I answer her knock
but her wrinkled face doesn’t match the words
one corner of her droop-sided mouth turned up
in an almost-smile.

“I heard Millie only has one month left,” she says
looking to me for a response
with her squinty stare.

“One month,” the creaky, tremored voice says again
as she raises her hand
and unfurls a gnarled index finger.

There is an air of anticipation around her
a greedy hunger to feed on impending doom
stretching her tattered, greying wings
beak clacking
the reek of carrion on her breath.

Isn’t it sad, her smiling mouth said
not a question but a matter of fact
that had no effect.

Her demeanor speaks more loudly
says with glee
Ha!  It isn’t me
sonofabitch hasn’t gotten ME yet.

My mouth is frozen.

I close the door on that death-hungry smile
feeling the sickness of it clinging to my hide
and wishing
it were her turn with the reaper instead.

The rose still sits in a cup on my dresser
My badge of honor
seal to secrecy to swear.

Lips painted red
no one notices a clown when the lights are blinding.
Two masks, two faces, two whispers

Outshine, outlast, outlive
two more minutes before you can go home.
I lied.  

Just wait until you make it
I promise there’s more than this
loose lips sink ships, drowning in jealousy.

Pretty in pink pretend to be
everything you’re not
maybe next year.

You’re so close.
You’re in the door.
We’re proud of you for not giving up. 

but when I open the curtain
it seems that no one showed.
Curtsy, exit stage left, time to do it all again.

It’s weird how much one room
Can hold so much
And I’m not just talking about the chairs
Or tables
Or even the whiteboards 
But the memories
The laughs
The cries
The confidence and confidants instilled
A classroom can hold 32 desks and chairs
But it can also hold so much more.

I wear the palest of aquas
the color I would choose if ever plus
a pink slice of cake to celebrate
not a wedding but a letting go
I welcome and say
hello to a girl named June
she’ll be here all month and I hope
I get to know her well
that she doesn’t simply dwell
but opens herself to the whole of it
all the bright as well as hidden
a season of sunshine and clarity
begins today as I invite her in

Sweaty Palms

i don’t remember
i don’t remember last night
i don’t remember who said the last word
we kept pausing
i do remember undercooked popcorn plopping in my rosé
and plopping advil in my beak this morning
where reality tv stops, reality begins
the tv still glowing like a haven of halos
los angeles lost me how they found me
drunk and loud,
yelling

down the street and
to the left,
pull into the old junkyard

turn up the music and
lie to me.
confidently, no remorse,
without knowing (is it better that way?)

blast your tunes,
it’s a composite of every song on the radio;
music in the same way
OSB is wood

well mince my words, but
you feed the same regurgitated shit to me
and my friends and the world

originality is a joke (get some new material),
but quit lying to me—
I’m not mad ’cause it’s not new,
I’m mad cause you didn’t make it
but you said you did

you’re sitting in your car but
you haven’t had a lifetime of making mud pies and
questioning yourself and 
failing to learn guitar and
forming opinions to
back your creations up.

I’m not asking you to leave,
I’m asking you to play a different song.

I’m asking you to try something other than the hamburger,
try something whole, 
even if you don’t like it.

Nouns will go first—
titles, for
example—
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
will fail
to arrive on your
tongue, though
you might envision
a dark
red straw-
berry
or a monolith
of Stonehenge.
Thomas Hardy will go next.
You will not
recall the words
azalea
or rhododendron.
Eventually
you will not remember
your name.
Even grace
will abandon you.

Rain falls overhead

like a thousand lazy suns

living just a second on the glass,

until swish:

the windshield is clean and swish:

the light no longer blinds and swish:

the grass shines an 8 PM gold until swish:

you tell me I’m beautiful on the drive home

and there just isn’t that much to talk about.

Now half asleep on the couch I wonder

have we always been so small,

still two kids,

each of us lost

a moment in the world.

Rain falls overhead

and swish.