unsucked
woke
up still
here
o wot a
sham
e.
A summer’s day in 1957
Our backyard where it grew
The mint, too, which we chewed
The wall supporting the yard and street behind
The garage and the space behind where we climbed
The fence next to Joe’s yard
Nonna picking the basil for cooking
Tomato plants struggling while Joe’s flourished
The swing set until we grew too tall
The peach tree with no fruit
Wasps’ nest on the garage gutters
Half the yard in concrete and the little fence to separate the garden
Whiffleball games in the yard
A scoreboard I made on the garage wall
Brian as catcher with his hat turned backwards
The whole yard in concrete and the chalked batter’s box
Pretending the upstairs porch was the broadcast booth
The upstairs porch with always threatens to fall in dreams
The zinnias Mom planted, leaves grainy to the touch
Nonno listening to the ballgame, transistor to his ear
The picnic table which became a boat a spaceship or anything we wanted.
Emptying the garage with all the stuff to play with
Nonna yelling in Italian to put all the stuff back
The back porch my Uncle Dewey redid in concrete
Nonna’s two back door, one which never locks in dreams
The night-blooming cirrus which came indoors to bloom
The swimming pool too small to swim in
Me on a tricycle in a black-and-white photo
Me 70 years on
remembering.
the moon has terrible cafés –
the coffee tastes like burnt postcards
the syrup tastes faintly of batteries
and the eggs arrive folded into tiny origami boats
still, we go every morning
you sit across from me
wearing your new gravity,
stirring sugar into your cup
there are blue ketchup stains on the tablecloth –
continents from a country that collapsed politely
years ago
the waiter brings chewy bread
there is something holy
about difficult bread
I can’t remember if we’re divorced
or merely orbiting at a respectful distance
the moon jukebox only plays whale sounds
and a familiar song
that skips exactly before the word ‘’home’’
at the counter,
a child in silver boots
tries to pay for pancakes
with four beautiful rocks
the cook accepts them
this is why I love the moon
its economy is based entirely
on sentimentality and dust
you tell me Earth looked small last night
“it looked as small as a blue pill,” you say,
and butter another piece of bread
I nod as though I understand adulthood
through the window,
the dark opens forever in every direction
the kindest thing I’ve ever seen
the Earth looks to me like blue-green bacterial growth
with little foamy white republics multiplying in the dark
It is embarrassing to be alive this long
It is embarrassing to keep wanting breakfast
small heart-shaped goggles
teen lifeguards wear mirror shades–
PLEASE Watch our tadpoles
burn of anger,
summon it,
hands numbed,
a thin ribbon of
smoke unfurling
against the snow
blue-and-white
aluminum
II
spider’s web
held the lamp
huddled in the corner
her closed mouth
try to speak kneeled before her
pocketknife
a few moments
nothing else.
push it the rest of
the way through
completing a stitch.
III
breathing hard
steadied
finished
sweat stung
God’s name
waved the blade
IIII
rhododendron
light
just enough
Earthen
minutes
exhalation
slowly
quietly
softly
rhododendron
soft and hesitant
She lit the lamp.
It was evening.
Tiny seeds in flowers.
New Violet remembrances of my grandma, transplanted from one home that’s no longer mine to a new landing spot.
Silver leaf Texas sage that offers
thanks for the rain with small lavender flowers.
A man in a parking lot with the car doors open, scattering crumbs for pigeons and small smiles to grumpy traffic
Heartbeat. Breath. Synchronous simplicity that keeps us alive.
Do we ever stop to notice?
Sleeping
with a knife
under her pillow
This is how
the girl lives
now
A girl assaulted
exploited
YouTubed
to death
her kind of
mom milking
views for
money
What hurts me
most is how
I poem
while watching
the show
writing words
like a courtroom
artist sketching
witnesses
&
I do this
while watching
the show
with my
daughter
written after watching the documentary Bad Influence
