A Viet Vice
One of the only Viet phrases I knew as a kid
was tôi đói or “I’m hungry”
in English
Even as a kid,
I never had a problem staying hungry,
it was knowing what to want that was the issue.
One of the only Viet phrases I knew as a kid
was tôi đói or “I’m hungry”
in English
Even as a kid,
I never had a problem staying hungry,
it was knowing what to want that was the issue.
The river is full of dead trees,
posing as wishbones
with their phantom limbs,
while green reflections
slide into the water,
the result of plentiful rain,
in a world determined
to take back what is hers.
How is it that every new challenge invites every past visceral fear and frustration
To interrupt my determination to center and problem solve
With a loud bash that causes my mind to crash?
Seems I can’t resist wiggling my various worries
My nerves are like that tooth hanging on
With just enough tissue to stay put (sort of)
And just enough looseness to make everything hard to swallow:
A fun excursion interrupted by explosions of fearful and hateful words.
An expected modification accompanied by the expected tight-rope walking.
A tedious work responsibility to wrap the year up. (sort of… A teacher’s work is never done…)
Parenting a man – balancing my responsibility for helping him grow responsibility
Trying (but often failing) to trust his responsibility to ease or at least recognize mine .
Every new surprise fences me in with
A million giant financial obligations with a million giant question marks. (hyperbole)
$?$?$?$?$?$?:'($?$?$?$?$?$?
I try to force calm to open the gate, but jam my finger in the process.
Curses and complaints roll too easily off my tongue
And I roll in another round of regret;
I squirm in my sincere sorries swallowed by
The monotony of my mistakes.
My candle gift flickers to shine a light on 10-year-old humor
“Teacher’s Last Nerve – oh look it’s on fire!”
Never more true until the chuckling diffuses the trauma bomb a bit
To allow deep breath, focused mind, and work toward resolution
Of the latest punches still bruising the surface of my psyche.
Paint covered fingers
A proverbial rainbow
Settling into the wrinkles of my knuckles
Canvases are done
Now I just sit
And literally watch paint dry
But it’s exhilarating
Seeing the simple in the creation
And imagining what could be
Maybe a fiery stairway
Thru a colorful sunset
Maybe mountains
Maybe nothing
Just color
I’ve never before been to two funerals in one day
but now I have
My Aunt was very special and there were so very
many people there
She was a teacher who loved her students
A mom/grandmother/Aunt who loved her family well
she will be missed by many
The second funeral was very modest,
a simple graveside service attended by
a handful of people
He was another Aunt’s brother
I didn’t know him well,
but he will be missed, too.
Maybe not by so many, but
He lived his own way and
loved his family fiercely
Death is a part of life
it happens all around us every day
so , why are we surprised when it happens?
Sometimes, we expect it
and sometimes it comes out of the blue.
It hurts, an agony that is like no other,
when it takes ones that you love
My vices (as some would consider them)
are archaic obsessions,
relics of a Boomer teacher
who proofreads
text messages,
revises emails,
footnotes grocery lists,
explains grammatical constructions
to a husband
who long ago learned
to nod
at her expertise
and look
over her shoulder
at the TV
as if anyone could possibly care
more about an errant apostrophe
in the possessive adjective “its”
than the score
of the Twins game.
I have hummed those hollow hymns,
I have hung my head in shame.
I have found myself tangled in the vine that grows no grapes.
I have tasted the sour wine that was Blood.
Now I seek my solace in stronger, cheaper stuff.
In heaven, everything is fine.
You’ll have your good things,
I guess I’ll get what’s mine.
I have heard it said that there is pow’r in the blood.
Would you spill my guts to prove devotion to your god?
There is no angel in this thicket, there is no Sacrificial deer.
But before you bind my hands – hey look – what’s that over there?
There is no free will to be found in a Sacred ultimatum.
No love in the demand for propitiation.
But would you kill the calf for me anyway?
After all,
I’m already home.
worn down to thinned bones and
itching skin choking through phlegm
until barely breathing through oncoming
shaky feelings cynical summer growing
wilder body feeling so much larger mind
humming with thoughts of departure
and needless sabotage till the weight
persists growing tired of the book i’m
reading and scared of that hopeless dreary
feeling until i feel that i’m humane again
breathing
He dreams thousands of years
and they connect to the center
he told me once he went through
through the center of the earth
and on the other side
he met himself
and others
from thousands of years
dark hair
coarse
dark eyes
wisdom heavy
dark skin
ancient embodied
they spoke in a language he said he only
re-members in his dreams
upon waking
he asks to tend to the altar
to give thanks to the ones before
who are here now
and walk before us
splitting time
so that we
might take histories
and make them our own
The bruises were more defined now.
I can take whatever he does to me.
Oh god. A gun. “It’s nothing to cry over, honey.”
This entire thing had been purely
psychological. He leaned closer, grabbing
my face in one hand.
It wasn’t a nice laugh.
“You don’t hate me enough to run away.”
Truth spit from the mouth of a man
known for his lies. He breathed deeply,
the sound still gives me chills.
A hand wrapping my forearm, unnoticed before.
My skin screams, blood bubbles the surface
pleading to be let go. His disgust is muttered
between bites. Chunks of flesh, fragment of bone.
Spit out on the carpetted Chevy truck floors to soak.
A cheap nylon slip dress, neon green tights.
Wrap my body, cellophane, funeral dress.
Curves carved in hopes a gaze may linger in
a new direction, free from intimidation.
My casket, final resting place,
the bed of a rusted truck, hinges creaking.
Hauling my body in the back.
Blood crystalized to sand,
pale skin baby doll, 5 years his junior.
My sattelite wish won’t get me far.
