Friday, July 18, 2008
where we live
but I chose
instead I have
but nobody lives in
sitting on a
bed doubles as a
couch it in easy
room to spare room to move room to grow
long lawns
clipped wish
the weeds away
***
but nobody lives in
apart from me
who else do you
no we don’t
know two room
apart
meant for one
flat-footed
efficiency
****
housing six
pensive and full of
wry smiles
oh yes we love the
empty rooms
turned out
pockets inside
****
out of
doors look out the lock out the
view the
sound of passing traffic
louder by five
who will buy
this beautiful
heat bettle
in the treetops
what’s the buzz tell me what’s
happening when the bough breaks the
who will cradle
your hunger
how far will we
rock bottom fall
****
figure eight
six figures
figure it
out, out
damned
spot the difference
****
turtle doves and a
bird in the
hand out
hand-me-downs
hand of fate
hard to handle
cooing
can’t say what we
need
mourning
all fall down
****
no sobbing here but
what you have
they find
wanting
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
rainy day
cousin air does the same
breathing grit into cracks once, a thousand, many million times
my diaphragm sinks into belly bellows as I
expand contract how often in this
as I live and breathe
when he says
you never she says
why don’t you they say
how could you
galaxies grow between us and I
could let myself fall into echoing
void of not my fault not me how could they
but when I stood on the rim
between huge bright blue and dizzy deep down to the slow green
trickle of ancient river
I knew I am an atom
now clouds rush to where the sun’s glorious rosy will wake us
and I remember
to choose this here now planet
my stone ribs grow strong
wearing all the air I borrow, all the soft forgiving
Friday, August 17, 2007
The vertigo of present time
This morning the shimmer of pavement radiated reflections of the sun but when she closed her eyes all she saw were the skeleton branches of the tree he pulled her under and the white globes of his eyes. She felt cooked in the oven of her four doors slammed shut, the air streaming at her eyes burning but she did not cry. The thin air of heat pierced her nose, sliced the curve of her throat and stabbed her straining lungs. Pull pull away there is pink silk on the path there is jumble in the stomach there is Jack Daniels in the freezer and ice cubes on the stove. She wants to be a wave, crashing, wants to be a motion, endless, wants to be fluid and ecstasy but beneath her is only the cracked eggshells of her stiff reality of her porous heart of her humming shame of her jagged breath of her screen door ripped by neighbour cats that sit outside, lifting paws to the dark within, hooking claws in the metal mesh. Pick pick, they make holes that she can hear. Breathing, she rocks.
Friday, August 10, 2007
finale
Another hospital bed, another window, I stood with my back to the sky and looked at the stranger in the bed. They took his eye away and smoothed over his cheek, digging at the cancer. He didn't move, didn't talk.
When I was ten, when it was my grandfather in the room, when his scarred face scared me, I just wanted to go.
Now it's aunt on the bed who struggles for breath. Air bubbles through water and pushes through clear plastic into her lungs. Oh I just want to go home she says, to lie in my own bed.
I take her hand. Feel her thin skin soft with wrinkles. They were pounding on my chest, she says. Why did they have to do that? Nurse says my heart stopped. I just wanted to sleep!
Her fingers are strong but now she sees her long-dead parents in the corner when she says she wants to go home. I tell her to rest.