I’ve been kneading loaves
since I heard the news, hoping
the day’s baking can
distill the chill from my blood—
I see shelves brimming with bread

twist of tongue turned twist of wrists
befalls twists in sheets (all night)

your words aglow on pages (printed) beneath the waning gibbous light
shining through an open window kept ajar for those verses 
to feather-fall among the cricket’s song
–in concert with yours–
on repeat, a treasured refrain
preventing sleep, forbidding cenote pools to settle

bare feet tiptoe along creeking floorboards
invisible imprints raise hushed echoes down the hall
deft fingers pry open a back door left unlocked in a summer daze

a calloused hand sweeps wayward wavy hair from pursed lips
then returns to encircle knees pressed to chest
while seated in a large wicker chair
silently pleading with the gods to extend June’s presence

                                                 no response (yet)

tired eyes lift from pages curling at the edges in the soft wind
to survey shadows creeping closer while the stars sail through the sky;
evening creatures’ yips and cries bleed melancholy symphonies
into aching hearts buried deep in the darkness

eyes close to conjur spirits traveling along throaty-lupine-growls
between legs
between breaths
between dusk and dawn

summoning them to collect smoke-scratched whispers over bourbon
to quench this thirst for falling in love
with the idea of a magnetic refrain 

my mind paints life-scapes,
decades– rolling blue-green hills
settle-ing to now
contemplating the white space
what is yet to be composed

A quiet man in plain clothes,
With a plain-looking old camera
Chooses a spot at the top
Of an outdoor Parisian stairway
That looks like a spiraling nautilus,
And waits.

He waits until the light Is just right
And waits a bit more
Not knowing for what.
People walk by
On the cobblestones.

He is unnoticed –
A sniper above them
Watching their moves
And doing nothing.
Until a man on a bicycle
Comes racing by.
 
Did he anticipate this,
Or is it all serendipity?
He fires the shutter
At just the exact moment,

Not a second too early,
Not a second too late,
But at the exact moment
When the bicycle
Is between the handrail,
The curb,
And the wall.

The man on the stairs walks away
With a black and white masterpiece
Pulled right out of the air
That no one else ever guessed
Was there.

Under several trees’ shadow

a small herd of cattle lay 

chewing cud, lazing. 

Bloviator baffled
Gish Galloped
Codswallop conned  

America, America
What has become of thee
Are you too busy watching tiktok to see  

Who among you will say
I never saw it coming  

When immigrants are marched into camps
(concentrated as it were)  

When women are handmaidens (Atwood warned you)  

When Christianity is the law of the land (Octavia tried to tell us)  

Will you blindly recite Martin Niemoller’s poem
In your meaningless, performative allyship  

Or will you get honest and say, like Rhett Butler
Frankly, my dear I don’t give a damn
Because underneath you don’t 
because it won’t affect you  

When I lose my rights as a woman, a Jew, a lesbian
Will you tsk, tsk, and say golly, I am so shocked
Because it won’t affect you  

When it is your turn to stand up Will you?

In the changing room I strip & slip into a hospital gown & scratchy blue shorts. Some clothes contain metal fibers, the sign says. These can heat up during an MRI & burn your skin. The lab tech, Cody, plunges a needle in my arm & clamps down tight. Had to squeeze it off quick, quite a water hose you’ve got there! The noise in the chamber is gonna be loud, he warns, but he’ll pipe in some music. What would I like to hear? I say jazz singers from the Fifties, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Sarah Vaughan. He says I got you.

he’s got the whole world
in his hands oh don’t let me
embarrass myself

I’m lying on a slab inside what looks like a high-tech coffin. Cody secures my head in some kind of vise—Gotta be very still—and lowers a hockey-mask thingy like Hannibal Lecter’s an inch from my face. The coffin sucks me in headfirst & the racket starts, clanking, banging, hammering, loud enough to give me an instant migraine. They’re looking for a tumor on my auditory nerve that could be causing my hearing loss & if I’m not stone deaf now, I will be when this is over. In the background, though, Sarah’s crooning Gershwin: Looking everywhere, haven’t found him yet / he’s the big affair I cannot forget / only man I ever think of with regret…

This damn vise is crushing my skull like a rotten pumpkin. If there’s a tumor it’s probably benign, probably won’t kill me, but this noise might. Clanking, banging, hammering—I wish I were deaf right now—& just then Ella & Louis dance in, having loads of fun. Potato! Potahto! Tomato! Tomahto! Let’s call the whole thing off! Cody comes & pulls me out, shoots me full of dye through my IV, then pushes me back in for another five minutes. Then dead silence—am I deaf already? Then I hear myself asking him about the dye. It’s for contrast, to see if you have any abnormalities. 

A tomato on
white bread plenty of mayo
yes that’s the ticket

old things
some are treasures
truly
others, simply old items left which don’t quite fit
the weight of age
what once was
now is, yet altered
trying to look ahead, embrace the now
which almost seems cliche
when so much 
seems, and frankly is, old

the city center,
bright bustle,
young bodies, or
young at heart

looking, under the
incessant skyglow, for
something–
a laugh,
or a love

some travel in a pack,
a few, more desperate,
alone

but all are looking
for one thing,
or another–
something to give,
or something to take

beating hearts,
pleading flesh,
each one,
a soul
unto itself