Illusions of nuclear covalence
accentuate assumptions fairly made.
My presence fills a gap of faith.
Never one to split an atom, I’m
only sometimes sharing a few electrons
testing the extent of chemical cohesion.
Tonight might become a mockery of molecules
hovering on the edge of existence.
Entire futures rest in our hearts and hands.
Does it ever cross your mind, the bonding,
after electronegativities attract or repel?
Dipoles denied, my lonely little nucleus.
A trail in early summer sings to me
Something about trusting the dirt path
To guide you on an adventure
And faithfully bring you back
To be welcomed by the flora and fauna
For a moment to feel an innate sense of Belonging
From this is where you came
To this you will eventually return
Moss grows green beards on rocks and tree trunks
Ferns playfully bat at my feet as I pass
I hear a distant rush of water down a rocky creek
All around me is delightfully sun dappled and kissed by shadow
I get rewarded by a bird chorus
As if I’ve interrupted them mid-worship
Which is fitting as being deep on this trail
Is as close to church as one can truly get
Maggie Smith, I’ve got
good bones, too, but my body
is a house on fire.
Oh Maggie, what can we do
to make this place beautiful?
They all know their names
although Domino comes at anybody’s name
trying to get a little extra attention.
“Back the hall” means keeping an eye
on all of them in one room. My room.
Every time, Storm jumps on my bed like it’s his.
They can follow the direction “sit”
but Belle is too prissy to
actually do it every time.
We like to give them treats
of “crunchy water” and they
crowd around the ice machine.
You can use “out” off-hand and still cause a ruckus.
“I need to get this stain out.”
Excited hurrying to the door.
And God forbid you use the word
“W-A-L-K”. I can barely spell
it here without things going to hell.
Amazing how much they know
and how much they’ll ignore
to get their way.
I was chatting with Ziggy Lazuli (La-ZU-li)
life?
for the multiplying cicadas and my father
in the crowded hospital room. father’s day
for his father in the bed lilting under morphine
and sensation / pulling his oxygen out absently
father’s day for my father’s brother
cupping his father’s hand as soon
as he runs into the room. reciting
how good of a father he has been
to all of us / all of them. floating his tender
flower-named
baby who has newly
made him father
in front of him. out of drugged dream
to face ice blue eyes of new generation.
peering / both ways. father’s day again and again.
drone of doubled population / insects shedding veils
of past life / singing / all
together
the body remembers what the mind can’t fathom–
the panic and scramble in falling–and the cause,
oh it doesn’t forget the cause, the horror
of the sudden void, a severing, leaving
your love like a silver filament leaking out–
floating floating against blank space, unanchored.
but the body also knows to open
your eyes each morning without a Sun–
if not to eat, then to breathe and move and sleep–
small steps until your feet remember dance.
and despite recalling, on all fours roaring warning
in your ears, gripping your gut with unfounded fear,
the body remembers love’s warmth and allows
this little star to tug you into orbit–
You and me, we took a trip to Pluto
in a great sky ship, tiny portholes
looking at the earth get smaller and smaller
until there was nothing left.
No blue oceans or island shores
with white sand beaches and tikki huts
drinking Mai Tais in the afternoon,
a handful of shells and starfish
spread out on the bar like pirate gold.
No laughing freckled faces and arms
under brimmed hats and beach wraps
that blow away in an endless breeze.
They say Pluto is not even a planet,
not even a moon whose gravity tugs at tides.
They say it is frozen and dark.
I imagine that we will wake up
from this suspended dreamless sleep
and lick the grains of sand from our teeth.
she knew
knew she was
was not the son
son her father
father always
always wanted
wanted
nor
the type of
of daughter
daughter her
her mother
mother dreamed
dreamed of
of
