Poems, page 15

          I met a poem on the way to

is patient and kind

is submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known

is to trust them to choose to stay with you no matter what you have to offer

is to rest

is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end

is my sister painting ladybugs and hanging them on my door

is my brother sharing his last m&m

“You just dropped it” a teenager wearing 

I lost a friend on the Pacific Coast Highway. 
Intended as a vacation, 
we drove from L.A. to Big Sur, 
a winding drive, 
mountains on one side
the ocean and crashing waves on the other. 
I got a phone call
about my dying aunt.
Some rubber band inside me snapped,
the friendship between us broken
but only for me. 
I tried to rationalize it later; 
I was the one doing all the giving
and all she did was take. 

I don’t guess I lost a friend. 
I excised her with a knife, 
cruel as the waves
being dashed upon the cliffs.

Of which link have you made between the dreamer’s past, present, and future heartaches are you most proud?

So small on the full bed, he naps. I hope he learns names of countless once and living things: limestone sandstone black bits of shale–a little marvel to see each day–a little kid and me because I ache too much now witnessing Wonder when I’m alone. Sometimes I just need to lie down in the rain, for someone to swallow me whole. I am all husk, hollowed out, peeking into empty rain spouts, scratching chitan. The grackles cack and complain summer is not lonely.

Which gives you the most trouble: altering settings, drowning, blurred vision, or overlapping faces?

I still see Dad in his chair
listening to his favorite music
with his eyes half-closed.
It was my arms that knew him
and the ways we carry each other:
nightly phone calls grew into lists
of meals, music, naps.
Dad needed to know
I was okay
        (How long could you carry him?                 You takin’ him home?                   
                                                             Yes, home.)

Rank yourself in terms of prolonged daytime reverberation.

The boat is sinking.
There’s a shark 10 yards away from the boat.
A lot of shark attacks lately,
their surgical steel practicality camouflage[s] tiny knives.

Other people, they can no longer see them.
The dumb, too distracted to collect words,
spit out the first dribble–
white shit spangles on the cement

We’ll never know what it was we saw
out of the corner of our eyes as we drove
down McKinley. She thought
it was the mythical creature Pan.
I thought it was an Easter Bunny. 
What it was – a broken statue,
missing its head,
in the middle of the sidewalk.

Skittering and scattering
wild parrots in the palm

Sudden sound tornado
an argument of crows

Birds joggle dance across the sky,
palm fronds flap in a hustling wind

Seasoning of sound
that takes you away

for a moment today
from the troubles at bay

Should one single slip
outweigh scores of solid strides?
Do good choices count,
when no one else keeps score, and
and you sold your word for beer?
Trust, then, in myself. 

Will it change anything?
Will it fix me?
Is it the answer I’ve been looking for?
Or is it just a distraction? 
Only time will tell…

“I think I like this little life”
and a gentle guitar melody
plucks through my brain
as I scrub an ungodly layer of dirt and dust 
off of the bathroom baseboard,
we really need to update the place.  

I think I like this little life, 
and a sigh escapes my lips
as I stare at the mountain of dishes
I can’t bring myself to help my husband with.

I think I like this little life, 
as our laughter shakes the walls,
echoing in our skulls as our brains rattle
from the seismic activity
of our joy–
we wrestle and play,
acting like children
who have just discovered
The Spear and the 6-1-9.

I think I like this little life,
as we cry and fight,
our passion bubbling over,
our issues spilling into each other’s cups
until neither of can hold another drop
and we shatter.

I think I like this little life, 
and we dance in the kitchen,
dodging the dogs’ paws,
holding each other,
breathing in scents entirely our own. 
He farts. 
I burp. 
We laugh and continue to dance
‘neath a city of stars
and our music reverberates
in our neighbor’s walls. 
We’ll apologize tomorrow. 
Tonight, 
we are finding solace in,
and loving
our little life.