Posts for June 5, 2024 (page 7)

Then, suddenly and eventually
You’re a standing filing cabinet
of English knowledge, an ammo-less canon,
Made of glass for accessibility,
Completely useless outside of this room.
And you just stand around and say things like:

Enjambment
        Conjunction
               Entrapment in a system of
                Juxtapositions and separate missions.

I understand why politicians hate English.
It’s where you learn to feel
       Where you speak to heal
I have not made it to a tenure of love
                  and I don’t think I ever will;
my why has always been to survive.

They said after five years it just gets easier
            But the lesson of a teacher is finality
            Will you spend 30 years giving back?
 Building your back as a ladder for the success
Of others; pouring thousands of dollars into
a piggybank you can’t break? Shaped like

                 A donkey, or better yet, an ass who talks
                     to you directly in your sleep and says:
double dipping
is criminal. The NEA posted a status update
asking teachers what they wish they’d known
                              before the weight

My thumb digs through regret:
                 “The best way to survive starvation is to
                     to eat from smaller plates”
   “Keep your resume updated for the job
        you’ll apply to hate after your retirement date”

Nikki Hailey says out loud that she pledges
                  to work us all to death
All the teachers you’ve ever met
                 welcome you to to our caesura—
All of us, sick of asking
              when is it ever okay to take a break?

i.

soft jelly bodies litter the shore like hundreds of plastic bottles
electric pin spines prick at the touch
hidden beneath fleshy clear pockets of silicone
as unforgiving waves bring more obstacles to shore

mom always enjoyed a walk out to the jetty
where it stinks with rotting sea bodies,
prisons and pools of tide containing crustacean inhabitants

once she almost stepped on a shark’s tooth
ever since, my eyes roamed soft sand below
as old men with metal detectors do

this year, beams of sun shone through
thick cumulus clouds like whispers of heaven
on a forgotten melody

over the years, mom’s pace began to slow
nimble footsteps swallowed whole
inevitable like waves upon an apathetic shore

         nowadays she jokes she’ll soon be pushed in a wheelchair
         captive of her own body
         i tell her i still can’t swallow that, never will

if the moon commands the tides, who moves her?

 
ii.

there was a time where i dare venture into the sea
great big boogie board shackled to my wrist

searching, my pale feet roamed sea floor
as tides retreated in an army of waving blue-gray soldiers
brave toes dared to locate conchs, sand currency and sea stars

mom used to swim with us, too
when i was small i remember latching onto her arm,
too afraid to let my own feet touch hidden sea floor
for fear of jellies or sharks, stingrays or crabs, or fish seen on animal planet
she’d cradle me in her embrace, wipe away my salt water tears

back when i only dreaded my father’s raised voice
and foreboding ocean dangers
before disgnoses and baggage left unattended

now, we walk

we walk until i forget that one day she’ll cease
no more of her small footprints to be carried away by the ocean
until the only evidence of her is written on my heart
or enveloped in memory of her protecting me from creatures of the sea

I miss the way my dad would rest one wrist over the steering wheel when he drove
and tap the tops of his fingernails on the underside of the dash

The other hand would reach into his shirt pocket
first to shake out precisely one Lark from its red pack
without ever looking down
and park it between his lips
then reach for the ever-present shiny chrome Zippo
flipping it open with barely a flick of the wrist

A bright clank of metal as the lid escaped its hinge and smacked the square body
the zip as his thumb rolled across the sparkwheel
the quiet whoosh of the flame

All the while singing On Top of Old Smoky
loud and off-key

a woman divorces
a guy

with the last
name of wright.

turns out
he wasn’t
mr. right.

she keeps
his last name 

“for the kids”

I’m just having an off day
Is what I’ll say
When really I can see the storm clouds forming
Feel the wind picking up
My sunshine fading away
I wish there was a weatherman in my head
To tell me to shut the windows,
Hide in the closet,
Or wear a raincoat,
But the storms don’t knock
And I never know how long they’ll stay
But I’ll pour a cup of tea 
And snuggle up for a movie 
Until I feel my sunshine rise again

The mallow family gives us the hibiscus.
The twisted multi-trunk branches sprout
pink/orange layers & pistils yellowed
with pollen that brew a wonderful tea.
They need heavy feeding for the flowers
to last longer than a few days.
Born to die fast or be consumed.  

Nasturtium can be eaten.
The brightly colored jewel mix
of flowers leaves a peppery
taste on the tongue.
I can’t nuture them, to flourish
seedlings need 6+ hours of sun a day.
I just can’t carry that much brightness.

Grandma died 
before I was born.
Grandpa died 
when I was seventeen.
Like he did for her,
I do for them–put 
flowers on their graves. This year
While kneeling 
down  on my knees
Between their graves
to place flowers,
A warm misty wind, 
sweet and gentle
Cloaked me—
there was no wind. 

Words drift in and out
        like flotsam on the tide

Tangling occasionally,
        to take on substance and form

But just as quickly
        washing back out to sea

Leaving the writer bemused
        and waiting for the returning tide

Sitting on the edge of the bed
one foot, then the other

into my panties
and then rolling back

in a somersault
pulling them on

legs extended straight toward the sky.

Victory!

What just happened?
I asked the air around me.

I’ve come home to myself
without even knowing it.

Welcome home, I said.