Love poem #6
There’s a lot I need to do today.
But for now, I’m content
letting the debt of responsibilities collect
while I lie here,
hands in your hair
instead of the kitchen sink.
There’s a lot I need to do today.
But for now, I’m content
letting the debt of responsibilities collect
while I lie here,
hands in your hair
instead of the kitchen sink.
We all learn
that people and things
don’t cease to
exist if
we can no longer see them
and I still
see Dad in his chair
listening to
his favorite
music with his eyes half-closed
Sunday morning, ten o’clock.
The gates swing open, the faithful
trickle in. Blue-shirted acolytes
admit us. Red-suited shepherds
keep watch over their flock.
We enter this holy space bearing
towels, sunscreen, books.
We call it “going to church”
and it is. Don’t we have the blue vault
above us, held up the the ribs of trees?
Don’t we have the holy silence, broken
only by bird choir? Aren’t we graced
with the brightness of cardinal, blessed
by the hawk who circles above,
three times for trinity?
We enter the water and are returned
to ourselves. We share eucharist
of coffee and donuts, chips and soda.
We honor Sabbath by slowing down,
reveling in rest.
“Praise the pool!” cries the celebrant.
“Amen, amen!” the congregation replies.
Sifting through boxes
I should have unpacked two years ago,
Evidence of the life I’ve lived.
Fragments of unfinished poemd
On scraps of paper and
half full notebooks
Photos of students
I taught long ago
I don’t remember names
I was sure I’d never forget
Sheet music
From my time spent
Learning cello.
Mix CDS, a medium lost and obsolete.
Postcards from places I’ve been,
Love’s ones’ letters from where they’ve been,
Ephemera from places around the world.
All these memories crowded into such a small space.
I wonder if the contents of this box
were the only thing you knew about me,
What would you think?
Those hills keep the secrets
Those skeletons shake in their graves
I could swear I heard it
A legend of a fiery beast that screams in the night
It sounds like a woman who is escaping, which is likely in those parts
It sounds like a panther the classic
A cougar
A wild hog
Or an unknown creature that only comes out after midnight
The myths, the legends
That night I pushed the boxes aside
I opened the window
It was louder and bigger
I shut it so fast I’m pretty sure the screen fell out
I ran back to the bed
And sank into stillness
…ick
sore throat
like strep
a single glass
of water takes wings
and flies out like night birds
spilling little chirps
in the little house
isolated from the others
visions
in fevered half-sleep
the priest breathing
down my neck
and I think of
the american flag
caught in my bike spokes
when someone called the police
now the priest reaching reaching
for my crotch
he only wants to help
sheets wet
someone calling matins
oh, it’s father hugo
little father hugo
he’d never hurt a fly
i’ve left my body for a willow tree. yes, i wish to droop to the ground like a damsel, want my branches spread like i have something grand to declare. decay so you will protect my roots from all the things that wish to steal nutrition from me, or maybe a set of chimes would suffice. you can throw me in with the wind & i’ll just start hollering pretty sounds, my yell will sound like church bells or the sound of cans clanking in pretty syncopation. i wanna mold myself into your laughter, ricochet off the walls & back into your mouth like a boomerang, i want to be the walls. yes, i want to hold you inside of me, keep you warm in the embrace of my chipped mahogany. but we’re birds, we fly free & who am i to trap you between my decomposed ribs? i’m scared of them anyway, birds, the weight of them in the sky reminds me of a compact mirror, as it watches me watch myself in the palm of my hand. but you’re the sky & i’m a bird flying through you & the weight of you around me keeps me from drowning in the current of the wind & i’m also the wind.
it’s almost 7pm
and it’s going to get dark soon
and it looks like it’s going to rain
and my brother sent me money for ice cream
because he loves me and,
i guess, because he feels a little bit sorry for me,
so damn it,
i’m gonna get ice cream.
as soon as i walk in,
i’m overwhelmed.
i can buy anything i want.
anything?
i’m not thinking of buying for two people,
not thinking if you’ll like this
or if you’ll eat that,
i can just buy
whatever i want.
as it turns out,
that’s too many options.
before i panic, i find myself practically sprinting,
subconsciously,
to the pasta aisle,
obviously.
they start playing some
stupid Michael Bublé cover
of fucking Home or whatever
and it makes me cry.
jesus.
i feel like a middle aged mom in a movie
going through a divorce,
crying at a fucking grocery store.
i make my way to the frozen aisle,
for the ice cream,
obviously,
and i finally find my favorite ice cream
but they don’t have have it in a pint size
and the quart is EIGHTEEN FUCKING DOLLARS
which is a ROBBERY
and i will NOT be paying that much for ICED GODDAMN CREAM,
but i swallow my pride
and i buy it anyway since my brother sent money for
specifically
this purpose, and i feel silly and guilty and
good.
the rest of my cart consists of
frozen pizza,
mozzarella sticks,
soups,
granola bars,
blueberry eggo waffles,
and peanut butter.
when i put it all on display on the conveyor belt
it looks like a six year old stole their mom’s credit card and went wild.
the total is eighty dollars.
jesus.
as soon as i get back in the car
my phone blares with a
tornado warning.
i can never remember which is which,
but i think this is the bad one.
i’m only five minutes from home
so i don’t worry,
but i do think about the last time
when i got caught in the tornado warning
and i came home crying
and you held me
and i said i was so scared of dying
and you said
“you’re safe now.”
i miss feeling safe.
i think about the fear i felt,
of dying,
except it wasn’t that, really,
it was the fear of dying
and leaving you alone to grieve.
it was the devastating heartbreak
that i would give anything
to make sure you didn’t feel.
now that you’re gone,
no one would miss me the way that
i was so afraid of.
the thought is fleeting.
though it fights to come back.
of course,
i think,
everyone would miss you,
think about your friends,
your mom,
your sister.
but losing the love of your life?
your best friend?
your home?
that’s the thing i was most afraid of.
funny.
here we are,
doing it to ourselves.
now that it’s already happened,
what else do i have to fear?
i know it’s not true.
i know i just need to eat
or sleep
or maybe have a damn drink,
but,
jesus.
it’s my birthday.
and i miss you so bad.
ash that was so volcanic
say it’s not the money
your heavy hand, barbaric
dripping in guilded honey
children in a puppy-mill
family portrait septic gash
and the scar burns even still
sewn together with the cash
