Posts for June 2, 2023 (page 8)

Bitter thoughts within me hide
of longing and of loss:

My heart inflamed,
at the sight of your satisfaction, untamed
Envy seeds itself in my soul
as your allure takes its toll

of longing and of loss:
of beauty and of being:
Every step stirred, a gentle dance
Let me shed my shell, by happenstance
Let me see past mesmer and masculinity
into hallowed scenes and hollow songs

True substance lies beyond the cracking carapice,
The soul, the heart, the mind, the core,
are worth far more than looks adore

yet still, I can not refine my refractions
I can not find satisfaction in my imperfect symmetry
I hate hot people
I hate that I hate(I wish someone would hate me)
I hate, hate

The city claimed it needed
a new justice center
and more parking spaces

so my childhood home
and the entire block
were demolished.

I should have expected it.
You could say my family
started the destruction ourselves.

The mural in the kitchen
was painted over.
The Italian countryside

only the perspective was off.
I appreciated the effort.
My mother did not.

A door that folded
in half vertically separated
foyer from living room.

At some point, wood rotted
away and was replaced by
a tin labelled “BREAD”.

I loved the make-do mentality
and pried that bit of history
off and took it with me.

Every year, exotic flowers
burst through the soil –
perennials planted

by the original owner.
No matter the weather,
they always came back.

What became of the dog’s bones
wrapped in his favorite blanket
and buried at the creek’s edge?

Even the water is gone now.
A chasm in the ground echoing
the one in my body and memory.

I thought my brother’s name
in the cement would be
a lasting tribute,

but all the sidewalks
and his efforts 
were ripped away.

The God Tree and
the rose of Sharon
had deep roots,

but they were no match
for the rumble and growl
of the bulldozers and excavators.

My only pleasure:
knowing I was the last
to enjoy their beauty.

Find a glass bottle
of a size equal to the offender’s integrity,
and stuff the offender inside,
jam the neck with cotton,
seal the lid, 
put the bottle in a box and tape it shut,
chuck the box in a dumpster, 
and mark your days in steps
to the sum of one thousand miles,
so when his truck eventually returns to your driveway
and he slides out of its seat,
another rubber-banded bouquet behind his back and
lies still writhing behind his teeth,
you won’t have to bother to find a bottle or a dumpster.
You’re already a thousand miles away.

Take a breath
without the taste
of lithium
on the back
of your tongue.

Today will be a teenager’s plate
after choosing breakfast for dinner—
syrup smeared with ketchup,
bits of pancake and his brother’s fries
and his mother’s salad and foam
from his father’s beer,
confusing shapes in sugar crystals.

Consume the day
like a starving dog.

Turn the table
into abstract art.

Leave a mess for
the gathering piss ants
to judge like flakes
of pepper in a windstorm.

they gather on the shoreline
in twos and threes, minuets of crocus
and snow

of pollen and its honey
bee, collecting on picnic blankets
for pontoon boating

the markings of a man
and the floated kiss of a spider,
lipstick leaving

webbed lines under her
closed and sandy eyes (lips pursed
wrists poised)

a tiger creeps from his
flesh, more prize than stripe
the brink

of good morning stretching
like a farmhouse sink now filling
with salt so

they begin to play, the earth
sits up with backs to the wind
faces whisper

into the sun while the tympani
tracks in a meter not unlike
the sea

(after William Steig’s Members of a Culture | About People, 1939)

We came 200 miles
Davenport to Chicago
stopping in Dixon
to see Ronald Regan’s
boyhood home
and passing on every
local dive to eat
We saw miles of open land
corn so young
crying for mother     the earth
We saw the sky turn violent
like the country below it
spitting pellets of rain
at our windshield
gusts from its heavenly lungs
so strong welding my hands
to the wheel
And as we talked
about the towns and farms
we passed as the 
The Tree of Life trial
sat in our minds
white nationalism spreading
like COVID on Twitter
we wondered
how welcomed
We would be
in this America
if they knew
we were Jews          

In a too-photoshopped world, we prefer
the beauty of unfiltered friendship. We are safe 
to invite each other into the dust 
we’d rather hide from the world, 
into the unwashed dishes, into our need.

In tiredness, tears, tatters, 
no matter what, we show up.
We can overlook the mess. We can
pick up a broom or a cloth. 

Maybe the golden hour picture of friendship
is illuminating what is best in each other.
We don’t need perfection, just to be seen
through the lens of what’s real, the space 
to capture laughter and tears, 
a trust developed over years.

we liked to play Go Fish and Uno in the hayloft
while the boys brought in the crops and
tended the horses

you liked to peek over the bales to watch the boys work
i liked watching you, though i didn’t understand 
the sparkle in your eyes while you watched that
you never had for me

go fish!

we giggled and talked about 
how glad we were
school was out
and that the days were not
yet too hot

do you have any nines?

church was best
because you sat next 
to me on the pew
and sometimes
we held hands

we learned about God
and sang about Jesus
and sometimes you
would come home 
with us for lunch
and then we all
played softball
while Mamaw 
churned the ice cream

but i am happy now,
to be near you,
to hear your laughter,
to feel the warmth of your body near mine

That’s the last card–you win!

Donuts with coffee.
   It’s National Donut Day!
       all I can say–YAY