they’re going to start
up the collider this July
and there’s no proof
that it does anything
to our universe
but just in case
I’ll write your name
across my ribs
down my spine
imprint your voice
to be the first thing
I hear
if it all comes crashing
cause no matter what
there’s no reality
worth it
without your red electric
the same friend’s family vacation as last june.
the same awkward pleasantries,
the same cousins playing card games,
the same jokes about needing to lose weight
(I brought carrot cake),
the same going to bed before 10pm.
the same passive aggressive,
“look how she reacts when I hug her!”
the same complete and utter lack
of self-awareness.
the same feeling of no one in this room
really wants to be here.
the same house,
the same pullout couch bed,
the same counting down the hours
until we can go home.
everything about this trip is exactly the same.
except this year
I don’t have wine.
The sun is disappearing little by little
or is it minute by minute?
What I mean to say is that the end
is coming, the end of summer,
the end of this man-made time,
the clock on the wall twisted
into some unknown language
the birds will never understand.
But they do understand light
and dark and the unbearable heat
that cooks their young
until they abandon the nest
and flies are seen
swarming around it.
there’s a poem in the attic
in the yard
through the blinds
there’s a poem in the rain
around the corner
no one minds
you may find one in your sleep
on your pillow
in a drawer
even when you’ve seen them all
you’ll still run
into more
they bloom full into morning
until dusk
into the night
making pictures cinematique
they play it out
just right
while making whispery rattlings
entering
everywhere
poets choose words carefully, then
measure, stir
with care
because more poems are waiting
down the hall
on the stairs
poets ready with their tackle, mind
and roomy
snares
not just ghostly still in silence
aloof with
gentle heart
but see them now a wild bunch
embracing
radical art
Hot flash morning
snowy cold milk kisses my neck
Prepping for the road
Thinking of a pill bug ball up
cozy on the couch
Hookie from the test
black shapes appear to disappear
in thick white air
Swallow
Ready for the ride
Home now
I lay watching
a cloudless blue afternoon
from the birdless window
High above me
luminescent tree leaf star shine
caught fallen from fog
Look what we can do!
Don’t you worry one bit.
bad tan lines that don’t look quite right
a laugh sounding from a bird outside
picturesque drive capturing sunlight
plane windows visible in smiling eyes
big screens fading away with title lines
salad bowls being scrubbed from the inside
cursing the skyline in hazy midnights
thinking about your body doesn’t feel right
lying in dear friend’s passenger sides
june daydreaming simply floating by
Cigarettes and roller skates
three inch heels and layered hairdos
polished nails, banana splits
bikinis, martinis, permanent waves
knitting slippers, painting walls
bowls of goldfish, contact lenses
baking biscuits, adopting cats
platform shoes and baby sitting
clip on earrings, disco dancing
foundation makeup, miniature golf
red meat, fried fish, lottery tickets
selling anything, sun bathing
tent camping, working,
sports events of any sort
turkey roasting, chocolate malts
ladder climbing, jogging
given up for good!
-Sue Neufarth Howard
Studying an old photo
now wrinkled & worn
dog-eared and creased.
I’m dawning a diaper & tee
holding onto an old dog’s ear.
I laugh as I look. Nearly
sixty-seven years old,
though showing its age
not yet faded away.
30 days of Heyoka
Give my uterus to the state,
And sail to open waters
Hoping to be born again
Somewhere where I
Can live in my body
Without asking to
And not fear its power,
Wondering when my own
Anatomy will be weaponized
Against me; the trigger pulled
By a man in a robe pretending
To be a god. When can I
Be my own damn god?
