after home lands wreckage
“So you can sing alto and soprano too?”
Not comfortably, I say.
Yes, I mean.
What is truer is that I am greedy, insatiable, an only child.
I don’t let the squeak in my range stop me because that part, you know, the one where the sopranos jump in and say,
we raise our voice, our voices, I want a piece of it.
I can handle the dn duhka dn dn dn duhka dn dn dn’s for only so long before I get bored, Impatient, yearning for an ooo with the altos.
But when the altos have to do the hard work of harmony a little higher than I would have hoped,
I can jump down, settle in with the men, and give you a bass line to ground yourself in.
the summer of
the monsoons
we were lying
in the flood plain,
blissfully unaware
of anything but
sun and
the light
of the universe
held right there
between
our tongues
and our teeth.
sudden dark,
the grey-sky
color of your
eyes and the
dryness in my
open mouth.
first the
splitting
then the
deluge
rising over
our two bodies.
is it the
ground’s fault
that it doesn’t
know what to
do with all that
extra weight
when it never
learned to carry
its own?
your mouth,
lips gasping
like a fish on
scorched earth.
i couldn’t
make out the sound,
but i think you said
“look,
how the water comes
without any warning
at all.”
The love has stayed within me
just the same as the resentment.
Perhaps the latter more easily,
perhaps the latter now more familiar.
All of your news is secondhand—
or, should I say, all my news?
A death foretold months ago,
limped to its final place in the garage.
My second thought was, “I told you so.”
My first was still to wonder how to fix it,
which led back to what I can’t say to you now.
I don’t say anything to you, now.
You’re gone but only from my life, not yours.
How do I deal with this living grief?
The love still lives, the anger still lives,
the hurt grows larger by the day.
Resentment changed and larger, too,
I miss you and I despise that I do
when you don’t seem to miss me at all.
But the love is still here, same as me,
hoping you’ll come back.
The connection was severed in name only
When my footsteps are the only ones
that break the silence in the house
the distance seems greater
Two lovers
a couple cartons of selects
and a financial quarter
widen the gap between us
Yet it’s hard not to long
for your head on my chest
when you sleep a room away
you are talking to someone on hinge
I hope it works out
People go through this life
Merely in existence, day after day
Never really saying what they mean
To those who mean so much to them
Instead they just assume that feelings are known
People only know, what they know, when they know it
Nothing is learned a moment sooner, and it’s usually too late
My grandfather told me, assumptions make asses and assholes of us all
I am certain I’ve found this sentiment to be true many times in my life
Why is it that words from our hearts arrive only when we are desperate
When apologies and tears flow after disappointment
Eulogies send off with a love letter or poem
When death has sealed the fate of forgiveness forgotten
I would rather be remembered for living fully and loving out loud
Making sure to pour out all the love I never got
Into those who are dear to me
So they never have to wonder
That I didn’t wait to share the most
Along the way with the people who deserve it
Will you love me
in spite of my crooked teeth?
Will you catch
the uneven bumps
of my smile
and will
you find it endearing?
Will you love
the jagged bottom line
hidden under the buck teeth
that peek through
the part of my lips?
Will you love it
the way I do?
I write as one, one being, one voice
one witness, but I am not alone
for other poets are present in my ear, my mind
my books, the community of LexPoMo
to offer prompts and inspiration — to guide
with dedication, craft and paradigm.
