Love bites
adorn my skin with
bruises, let us show the world
how you care for me
*For C.*
Aging Father
which present will make him
love me which will calm
his nerves
which present will make him
treat mom better make him view
me with some value in his eyes
which present will suffice
since presents do not alter
emotions for very long
which present will mark him “honored”
satisfy this year‘s requirement
then I’m on to other things
which present will show him I’m beginning
to understand the time and energy
required to be a parent
which present will reflect
my knowledge of the father role
now that I’m a single mom
which present does he need
to soften his comfort ease his pain
remind him I’m still here
which presents do I find
stacked neat into drawers
skin bracer and talcum powder
we clear out his room
family pictures on the wall
I can’t stop waiting for you
It’s like my body doesn’t know any other way to be
I don’t have nightmares anymore
I went to therapy for that
But now that they’re gone, I wish they never left
It was the only way I got to still see you
All of this is so frustrating
I’m finally happy
Finally free
Finally in love with someone who actually loves me
And yet…
I end up going back to my old ways
Like how a train won’t leave its tracks
Like how a prisoner can’t leave their cell
Like how prey doesn’t leave its predator
I’ve always been a creature of habit
I just wish my habit wasn’t you
My skin covered in goose flesh as if you are there with me, your own fingers grazing against my bare skin
The fine hairs electrified, standing up towards the sky as if they could pull away from my skin to long even more for your touch
How I long for you to lap away at me like Dionysus in his glutinous ecstasy
Drunk off the flora of my fauna
But your supplication ever so persistent and wanton, a desire you beg for
A steady eagerness, more you state through husky breath, a guttural growl from your loins
You appeal to the longing desires I have sought for centuries
For me to be your chosen one
My ruling power of Venus
Entraps your lust holding you tightly
Deeply now intertwined my power a steady force you can’t resist, but melt into an ecstasy
Letting go of these preconceived notions of what you only allowed yourself to want
Fully surrendering to me
Near the shore a flapping swoops up from the brush,
a shock of gray-blue feathers scooping air–
what Yeats’ swan must have sounded like,
“its great wings beating still”–
Into my Beau’s red Dutch oven, they go. Diced:
onion, celery, into hot oil. Allow to simmer.
Leaf and cane like a blackberry.
Sweet, a mix between a raspberry
and a blackberry, once the fruit turns
black. Pulls off with the slightest tug.
Has a center hollow like a raspberry
but smaller than either.
Seeds are formidable
They ask the poet
how he’d prefer to be killed.
Boiled in oil, he says.
But won’t that hurt quite a bit?
Oh yes, he says, but that rhyme!
we figure it out as babies:
that thumb and forefinger
can pinch, like a crab,
and lift small objects
as a child, when our
brothers and uncles
(and bullies at school) use
thumb and forefinger
to pinch our skin–
ha ha, funny joke
as a child we learn, usually
from our parents,
that the forefinger can be
pointed at us,
accusingly,
to let us know
we were bad
growing up, we quickly
adopt the pointing forefinger,
to call out something bad
our sister did, or to
draw attention to
something at a distance,
say, an ice cream truck
not long ago, we used our forefingers
to dial rotary phones, now we
use them to stab at the screen
of our “smart” phones or
peck out a poem on
our keyboards
musicians, playing
different instruments,
would agree few could play
without the forefinger,
which tends to get
a large number of
the melody notes
hell, we couldn’t even flash
a good old-fashioned
okay
without the forefinger
and no better tool was
ever created to dig out
a stubborn booger
we could go on, but
let’s stop to consider
this question:
if the forefinger
is so freaking great
why don’t we wear
our wedding bands
upon it
I think this is why:
while the forefinger
is supreme among
the fingers, the
fourth finger is weakest,
unable to rise easily
on its own,
unlike the others
when we wear
our wedding bands there,
we are commemorating
a union that helps the
weakest part of us
become
stronger
but what if you are unmarried,
what if you don’t go around
pointing your index finger
at others
well, there’s always the
middle finger
