After these things God said to Abraham
Take your son, Isaac, whom you love,
far away.
I will go
I am
the lamb for
the altar
the
ram in a thicket
the
burnt offering
An erasure poem of the Akedah, Genesis 22:1-14.
I.
Privilege: A man has a home.
Misconception: That man believes he owns his home.
Irony: The bankers laugh all the way home.
II.
This little piggy ate roast beef.
This little piggy ate none.
III.
We understand that life can be unpredictable and complicated. Please treat this matter with the utmost importance. We have taken the first steps towards repossession. Please contact your local Archdiocese for assistance. They have a designated exorcist on staff to investigate claims of demonic activity. As of now you have 30 days from the date of this letter for your family and friends to send you enough thoughts and prayers to equal one month’s mortgage. Cases are vehemently vetted and require an exhaustive examination of medical and psychological factors before any divine intervention is considered.
IV.
How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!
V.
Q: What are the Terms and Conditions of the Foreclosure Property Sale?
A: 10% down of the final bid must be paid at time of sale. The remaining balance is due within 24 hours and must be paid via certified check or cashier’s check.
VI.
Does anyone know the name of the angel who replaced him?
angelic baby fat photo reminders
like a puncture wound
let’s just say it all out loud
i look in the mirror
i am aging myself seeing you there
this is how it is, the tears
i try to do things in memory
picture the house,
the house that is living
lay awake restless,
you and your bible,
you on my face
It came to me in a dream
the poem of a generation
A verse so small
strong enough to withstand
all that may pass
Castles would crumble
Clouds would clear
Life would prosper
Freedom would flourish
But it’s a shame
it was a all a dream
and such a phrase will
never exist
Not from the tip of my pen
I don’t remember how young
I was when I learned how
to disappear. It was easy,
really. I just had to sit still,
keep quiet. Something I had
always been good at.
Surrounded by brothers,
two up, one down, I learned
early not to compete
for attention, for oxygen.
I quit the fight and found
a space of quiet and peace.
I walked alone in the woods,
curled up in isolated corners
to read book after book,
came to the dinner table
when called, cleaned my plate
while my mind held conversations
with myths and monsters and
imaginary friends.
Unavoidably overwhelmed
by the familiar curve
of a city street
rolling around the edges,
like skaters in a rink.
Finding you somewhere local,
to have your raves and coffee,
regulated by the thrum
of a neat 330.
Murals on the back of corner stores
“discovered” by each new class
of Lafayette Generals.
How long until the years no longer feel real?
The imprint of a horseshoe,
out by the castle we’re known for.
Divisible by a Dairy Queen
and wherever you can find
a strawmelon Ale 8.
The air is clinical in this
hotel room. No smells, no stains,
like the ones on the living room rug
we left behind. The toilet
won’t leak here. We set our own
thermostat. My wife flips
through channels on cable
as she waits for me to write
a new poem. When I get done,
I am going to go to the other room
and worship her like she deserves.
Then I will fall asleep, taking up
so little of this spacious bed,
her huddled in beside me.
And though I fear this anniversary
passing quickly, at least
we didn’t let it pass us by.
I was lying under a glass table
in a room full of old women
smoking
Marlboro Reds and Virginia Slims
pretending I was underwater
invisible to the conversation
happening above me
my grandmother
pointed a gnarled finger at the door
where the muffled laughter
of my grandfather and great uncle
could be heard
she declared
that no man
could grow a garden
without a woman behind him
because men couldn’t grow
anything
because they were good at only
breaking
it’s why I don’t talk to the plants
all with names hanging in our kitchen
there’s no point
because it’s been said
the register of a man’s voice
does nothing to help a plant grow
today I read that cats
form emotional bonds with women
and tend to manipulate men
into getting what they want
it begs the question
what am I good for
except to rail against
the jagged edges of the world
until there’s nothing left
a job well done
with a closed mouth
and heart
because even nature
believes us undeserving
Their adventures began…
in summer
they were inside, trapped, watching the rain
giving up
thinking it would never end
…chiefly because…
of the thunder
and the never-ending telephone alerts
warning floods
would be flashing imminently
according to the all-knowing L-F-U-C-G
…it was one of the wettest and coldest…
afternoons
they’d ever seen
this late in June
Shillito
still chilling toes
when dipped on intermittent bright mornings
struggling to remember the
…summers there had been…
extreme heat plans and withering berries
and cautions not to leave pets outdoors
from Karyn Czar
on NPR
reminding them
that nothing lasts
the weather will change
in five minutes max
the way it has
…for years.
Blackberried arms
bracelet-heavy
violets in choker
strung
and a broche bruising
by the heart
