Pain spreads into virgin veins
and newly thought-of branches.
An insistent fist,
twisted and knuckle-pressed
into the backs of us.
We have looked, dry-eyed,
into the dark drear,
contriving a laugh,
picturing courage and rebellion
while fetal in our dampened beds.
And, in the light of day, we walk,
zombified and smiling.
Monthly Archives: February 2020
Amica the Christmas Tree
This charming tale from Meg Sefton.
Something’s missing
Do you miss
Do you want
Something lost
Are you here to look
without telling?
It’s one in a million,
I sadly say.
But, star-crossed as we might be,
the future’s not ours to see.
Que sera, sera.
That’s the spirit
There’s no one to adore it.
Too hard-shelled and prickly,
I guess.
Transgressions bought and paid for.
Still, there are soft surfaces of want.
In the shower,
(hotter, hotter),
there’s that brain stem shiver.
White-eyed,
photogenic as an actor’s orgasm.
Protected: physio days
One track mind
Tell out loud
how good coffee lingers
like nicotine fingers.
Remember now
how a curly head kid
had to keep up with Dad,
no proffered hand,
in a strange land
of cigars and racing forms.
*Outta my way, kid.*
And men behind wickets
spat out the tickets
but seldom gave us money back.
And now, coffee cooling,
I think of tag-along days that are long gone.
And I remember how Dad always smelled of cigars,
though he never smoked one.
And how I came home from those days of loss
to a crying mother
and fights in the kitchen.
Arrows
This! From Abby Simpson.
“Before the first nightmare, do you remember what you were doing the day before?”
“I’d like to forget, but I remember,” he said, picking at a loose thread on one of her grey and black throw pillows. This couch, upholstered in a shade of sickly yellow-green, had seen better days. Far worse people had probably laid right where he was, he thought. But that wasn’t the question.
“I was in Jersey. New Jersey – not the island south of England. There’s a gay bar in Newark and I was supposed to be there because this guy Vinny was meeting Steve. It was love at first sight, you know? Steve saw Vinny walk in, and Vinny was nervous because he’d never been to a gay bar before. He knew his parents wouldn’t approve, but his friends were there with him. So Steve bought Vinny a…
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the pact
Don’t worry, baby.
It’s a long while yet
(He said)
Would you rather it be sudden,
or protracted and storied?
Either way, I’ll oblige.
Dignity. Yes we must have it.
No blubbering, quivering,
or hand holding.
Just close the door.
Snick the lock.
I’ll set an alarm.
The house that Jill built
The house she built
is nested inside
the one they bought together.
It’s been long in its building,
with slow accretions
wrung from unshed tears.
A desperation. A resignation.
It has gift boxes, unwanted.
Empty bowls and jars
on brazen display,
meant to catch a beautiful rain
that never came.
The wanting
In an evening of pine perfume
and soft needle carpets,
we sat in the scout group, fire-entranced.
And laughed,
as neglected marshmallows blackened
and fell into flame.
Outhouse-bound,
I didn’t hear your soft steps behind me.
You ran ahead. Leaned against a tree,
not beckoning, but doing something odd with your fingers.
I stopped by you. How could I not?
With one of the warm mallows,
you made stretchy designs,
like knitting with thumbs and index fingers.
Now an amoeba, now a neuron, a spider web, a ghost with eyeholes.
You said nothing at all,
and turned your freckle face away, enthralling.
And I was silent too,
smiling and trying to catch your eye.
Just as the light failed,
you removed a ring from your finger, pocketing it.
Looked away, tapped your foot.
What a fool I was.
Aremyfeetofftheground 