American Sentence L
When the train slows, a boy scans ghost-filled dimness, slingshot ready in hand.
When the train slows, a boy scans ghost-filled dimness, slingshot ready in hand.
after Jacob Collier
you told me there’s a patch of sunlight in your room
where I held you for a moment.
you can see it so clearly.
tell me, what moment was it?
the day I folded your laundry that littered the floor? or
right before my harley davidson boot fell apart at the soles? or
after we wandered the woods and promised one another we would
let it flow?
or is this patch of sunlight you speak of, just
every part of our love reflected off your windows
onto the carpet of your room
where I held you
for a moment?
There are times
when my brain
jumbles across a page
fumbles over words
scrambles them into a pile
a magnitude of more
then less and then more again
scribbles, against scratches
noise amongst the static
constant whispering veiled
an overlay into the background
a clock ticking that no one hears
except for me in quieter places
then there’s the music
always the playlist of my life
shifting to the forefront
and I can’t ever find my pencil
when I need it most.
i will become
the sunlight
just beneath
your
horizon
&
you will become
purple dances
across my
infinite
sky
&
we will
welcome
the moon
together
nearby a creek babbles, laughing like a child
one with cherry red cherub cheeks
humor doused in doses of naiveté
i’m reminded of myself here—
freckled like a forest floor,
a honeysuckle-sweet streak
faithful as little ones nestled neatly beneath a fig tree
mosquitoes form a halo above a tangled brown mess of hair
newborn legs tremble like leaves in wind
nowadays my heart is royal
though at times the flesh forgets,
lost as morning light filters through leaf canopies
dappled like a fawn’s soft speckled fleece
with that flat expanse of dusty fields,
the shaggy business strips,
and brusque Midwestern replies
made me wish for a valley to hide in.
My ears clamored to hear
the saccharine politeness of shop owners,
not honest and cool indifference.
Buy it or not, they don’t care.
They don’t know your momma.
But oh that sky –
I never tire of the sky –
the blast of light across the soybeans
as the storm runs down to the river,
or the fog hanging in the morning
like a misplaced cloud.
The hot bright blue of july
not obscured by any mountain.
The night stars answered
by fireflies below.
After 15 years we get some greetings,
Some nods to our son, born here.
The small town doesn’t fully trust,
but welcomes us on the edges,
we are still in the trial period.
I kind of like Ohio.
Even after the rain,
summer storms seem to hang
just above the trees
that have stopped their swaying,
conscious of the thick quiet.
To be a child, left behind
Dad’s run off to Mexico
So do as you please
have plenty of sugar
but don’t watch tv
Mom’s working and sad
Big brother’s kinda mean
but he’s got your back
and a most excellent promise
the bicycle a symbol
of progress and freedom
the phone, another invention
to put us in touch
Frogs absorb the world through their skin
Their hearts under threat from dissection and chloroform
just like in Black Stallion
Our hero knows to free them
“Is he OK?”
“He’s feeling everything”
and Elliot is too
and little Gertie
in real life abandoned and abused
42 years later, Mathison’s still not heeded
What is it about the world
which still doesn’t understand
The power of feeling and the power of love
John Williams score creates so much emotion
and when the bicycle gang rides into the sky
our hearts soar
once again, for Brotherhood and freedom
but also for trusting those feelings
One thing about that movie
besides giving two men
the most illustrious careers-
It sold a lot of Reeses
and it probably stopped children
from dissecting live creatures in school
after 1982
I wrote another poem but
It may not have gotten my point across
Maybe it’s because it’s lost
Behind a cloud of thick, invasive thoughts
And I’ll keep this short as possible–
I used to escape them by all and any means,
Drugs, sex, food, and/or sleep
And I promise that all I’ve ever wanted
Is a few minutes of quiet and peace
So I’ve found some time to write it out
I guess there’s that, at least
I’m brushing fluoride on my teeth
And thinking of my favorite hygienist who gave it to me –
I like her because she let me escape before the dentist came
With a TED talk about chipping out my silver fillings
And replacing them with her new car I mean crowns
I don’t believe in looking for trouble and my hygienist knows
Unless they hurt me, I will leave them alone and that’s fair
Then I think of my grandmother and the Alzheimer’s
And the fluoride – for a minute I consider Ramifications but
She didn’t have anyone painting fluoride on her teeth
And still was not spared and how again maybe
I should not go looking for troublesome things to worry about
And how the hygienist whose name I should know by now said
Paint it on at night and sleep. It’ll brush off in the morning.
