Poems, page 5

Pacing in sunshine,
the sky bleeds light
to stain my clothes
with flecks of glitter,
of sunbeam distilled,
as I am perfumed by
vanilla salt, honeyed 
sweat misting the red
of my shoulder blades.

the sun was just enough 
to make the day lighter
in this new june heat

a patch of grass shines
in the corner of the angle
of the gray building

a corporate sundial
dictating where the short
midday rest may be

i pivot my slack and
jacket body into its silver
sliver, forgotting an 

overdue call, an email
required to send to say
only a sentence

if there is any extraordinary
in this life, it is the place
where warmth fosters a dream

I remember the day when I was about 13,
riding in the backseat
of my best friend’s parents’ car when her mom asks
“Shannon says your grandparents live in Western, KY, where do they live?”
my answer was “Ballard County”
“What are their names?”
“Rudd and Fannie Viets”
I was astonished at her next words
“Your Grandfather and Shannon’s are first cousins”
And just like like, my bestie is my cousin.  
Of course, we had always been related, we just had no idea
That was over 40 years ago and she is still one of my closest friends
She is still my cousin, too

oh how i love my pink velvet couch. 

you don’t get pink velvet couch without 
moving outside of new circle. 
moving outside of new circle means
leaving the co-op. 
leaving the co-op means
saying goodbye to walking to tahlsound. 
saying goodbye to walking to tahlsound means
missing the neighborhood cats. 
missing the neighborhood cats means
finding a new walking route. 
finding a new walking route means
that i moved. 
moving means no more apartment. 

no more apartment because 
i couldn’t be there anymore. 
not without you or our stupid little life. 
no more apartment meant
no more couch that we got for the home we were building. 
no more couch where i held you while you cried. 
no more couch for cats to curl and dog to disturb. 
no more couch worn with your elbow, my hips. 

you don’t get pink velvet couch without 
posting ‘couch for sale. well loved. comes from a home with pets.”

oh how i loved that couch. 

Thousands of nails on the pole,
Bent and broken, rusted, old,
People pass without a thought,
Nails breaking, metal hot,
One from a lost cat,
One for a “for sale”,
Free steaks,
Yard sale,
Phone numbers,
Nighttime entertainment,
They all lived here,
Pierced by these nails,
Torn without a thought,
Weathered and broken,
These nails stay,
Preaching their tales to the ghosts.

The moon, it’s a lightbulb
over the basement stairs,
the pull-string hangs
in the middle of the room
just above, tip-toes to grasp
the tiny bell shaped weight
and it burns my retina
as la luz explodes.

How long did I search
before pulling the cord,
hands searched back and forth,
until it came on – la Luz.

Outside, I caught snowflakes on my tongue,
I stood shivering in the dark
afraid of the insides of my eyelids.
How I hoped that
the doctor’s new cure,
like La Luz, would save me from shadows.

viví para la luz del invierno
con la luz de mil criatales de hielo,
they were fairy rings in the winter sky.

Renovation of a house is a kind of rocky romance
the love affair promises, the trust breaks up and the
disappointing sub-contractors woo but fail to consistently deliver

Scrawled over-budgeted promises ~ bids never staying true to quote,
as insturance companies give every excuse not to pay
not to mention tolerating intrusive nosy neighbors

The painter filled the house with oil pain miasama as scratchy 
religious programming blasted in Spanish on his paint-speckled 
battery operated radio

This old house has such good bone structure
a smiling wrap around porch and the echo of wicker chairs rocking
as long gone elders’ laughter lingers in the air . . .

When I remember, I remember 
flowing robes of
preacher and choir
the amphitheater of God amplified 
rocking bodies
sternum to stem and sweaty raised limbs
congregants rapt in their reveries
a grocery list of sins
checking off each with a promise
that this time it’s going to be
different,
the doors of the church will
swing into the wide waiting world to
swallow their intentions
whole while
amens lift up from the heads of the
fervent faithful
a chorus of synchronous lightning bugs
electric, alive
humming like drone bees.
Seats move, stomachs growl,
systems idle in preparation
for an organ’s benediction.
This is as restless a business
as it ever was.
But, crawling ‘neath church pews—a domino run
of pantyhose, heels, and skirt hems,
trouser socks, dress slacks, and polished leather loafers—
is frowned upon.

What you think you have to say
is not what I want to relay
to the reader. You won’t hear me
unless you throw pieces of me away
or replace them. Read and bend me,
shatter me, your known world unsee.
Leave me alone for a day. Return
open and focused–I will be
closer. I will uncover my turn
when you release and unlearn
what at first you wanted to say.
Clothe me in words. Thus, I am born.

(Thank you everyone for the support and for sharing your work with me during Lexpomo 2024! See you here next June.)

Round ligaments rebelling

Lightening crotch crescendos

Brief fatigue reprieve

Heart palpitations aplenty

Neurotic nesting urges

Stretch mark map on swollen belly

Heartburn from hell

Insatiable hungry colliding with inexplicable fullness

Reaching viability and revelation

That this baby

Is real