Poems, page 38

Before, when I thought all misfortune
led to me, blame easily placed,
it was easier to understand.
Going forward, two years past to
here and now, I wonder where
to set this little grief and small blame.

My mother, a green witch
creates between trees
stunning natural tableaus
of stone, flowers, trunks, and moss
she recites plants’ latin names,
knows when it is time to bury or replant.

Spell is another word for
prayer
recipe
map
love letter
eulogy
meditation.

My sister, a shapeshifter
embodies imagined characters
onscreen and onstage
the hot lights animate
the voice, face, limbs, gait of the woman
she possesses for the night.

Nature is
cyclical
diverse
adaptive
indiscriminate
balanced
social.

My grandmother, a siren
passed down her mezzo soprano;
when I sing I imagine her
pressing down my diaphragm
wrinkled hands, perfectly manicured, bejeweled
in case a chance to play the piano presents.

Ritual is another way to say
sacrament
thanksgiving
fast
feast
dedication
naming.

Man shunned and hanged healers in Salem
dismisses The Moon’s influence as mythology
builds machines to mimic creativity
to advise without empathy.
The orcas, dolphins, bees send signs;
their matriarchs grow agitated
waiting for us to collectively remember.

I laid down on a flat rock
Jutting out into the creek
Water bubbling at my feet
Hat blocking my face 
Warm and contented I fell
Asleep right then and there
On the side of a Shenandoah
Trail; like a turtle warming 
Themselves and napping on
A beautiful autumn day 

stale pizza
wafts through the air
half of
these games are
broken
and the other half
might as well be
this chair is
uncomfortable 
too low to the ground 
and rips all
over the faux
leather cushion 
i feel like i died
and this is the hell
this poor sinner
was sent to
then i look at your face
as you sprint across 
the sticky soda floor
and you are so
happy

In the bathroom,
during our Spanish class,
we hid in the handicap stall together
as girls in search of themselves.

We shared sips of our drinks.
You offered me your cup, as I offered you mine.
Our lips pressed against something
that the others had already warmed.
Neither of us would ever be thirsty with the other.

We shared our lip gloss and chapstick
when one of us had forgotten hers.
We were just being girls together
looking to feel something and
find ourselves in the midst of holding someone else.

You were my friend
and I loved you.
My lips were chapped,
but you had put the cap back on your lip gloss,
you had already stuck it into your purse.

Pieter Breugel,  “Landscape with the fall of Icarus”, c. 1555-56

And no plough will stop
the plunge

see intelligent hands
whip lines

dreaming of being anywhere
but here

where Minos and Daedalus lose
their sons

and still the sun shines
Pallas’s prize

Presented to deaf ears
calloused eyes

Did you hear about
the man-eating Zlorporphs
that docked in San Francisco?
It’s just terrible
-a real shame, really-
what happened to all of those people
living out there on the coast.

You give me an honest, non-surge, fair market,
respect-the-customer type of price on the fruit of the valley
and I won’t have to shoplift any vegetables of the field
(allegedly)

Be shamed for locking away baby formula.
Be shamed for hearing hunger and seeing dollar signs.
Need is never a thief, 
Want almost always is.

People seek moments
Safe, self-contained in their cars
Like a treed squirrel 

Once a safe place
To hide out
Your miniature home
The middle of the pandemic

Now people in cars
Everywhere
Talking to a spouse
A girlfriend, a boyfriend
That kid down the block

Safe, when you got no place to go
When you can eat your lunch
Nobody’s bothering you
Isolated, separate

People in cars
Everywhere
How long you been sittin’ in that car?