poetry – Page 34 – Aremyfeetofftheground

The wasting of a mind (a mother known)

The years are ten
since your body died.
Fifteen since you fled in spirit.

That damn old sharpness and command you had
That keen sense of the ridiculous
Lost in the vexing of an unchosen labyrinth.

Our nervous laughter.
Our embarrassment for you.
Sidelong glances.
What to do?

You were looking around corners,
expecting the worst.
Each day, the maze grew more confounding.
Your shields were up,
and no one could get in.

We strangers let you lie
in a home that was not.
We came and fed you,
shared the load
until you were done.
Helpless. Helpless.

Just last night,
in my dream of blackened beams,
I watched, appalled,
as your mystic ghost rose in torment
from its wasted habit.

Embarked on the journey of the lost.

Very bad things (graphic)

Someone came running.
Said come and see.
They smiled strangely
as we took a shortcut
through the hedges, to the roadway.
There, a black cat that was mostly flat.
Crushed and cooking in the concrete heat.
One eye staring up, askew.
The other, a popped grape.
Introduction to prurience.
Smile no more.

Someone caught a snake.
A long sinewy garter.
Put a big red firecracker down its throat.
Bang.
Then hung it from a thorny tree.
For all to see.
Attraction, and repulsion.

Playing house in a backyard tent
with someone they called “the dirty girl”.
Now, let’s play Doctor. She said.
You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.
Naïve confusion and uncertainty.

Someone laying by a bush on Mount Royal.
We were up there with our bows and arrows.
This person was a strange colour,
and had a crusty red hole in the side of their head.
Momma, Momma, Momma!
We ran. Changed forever.

We were stopped at a gas station,
when we heard the sirens, coming from our left.
The loudspeakers blaring CLEAR THE INTERSECTION.
Straight ahead of us, a car speeding towards the same point,
with thumping music. Oblivious.
They hit hard, and spun.
Bloody faces punched through windshields.
Horror and helplessness.

A tearful tenderness

what is it
so sore to the touch
purpleness
unthinkable
to show
to see
to ask for absolution
something unaired
not healed by time
and so one goes about a life
with cultivated shallowness
a sham in fear
of a plumbing of the depths

Crystal light

it splashes the vision
with the limpid light of fall
sun’s long rays at the day’s end
a spotlight of startling hues
shone through the shorn bleakness
reflected from fiery cloudbank
take me back
take me back to the sadness
take me back
to the love

inspired by the painting “Crystal Light” by Erin Hanson (shown above)

a fungus among us

wax of ear
and jam of toes
and crusty nugget
out of nose
seeping sweat
from tofu arms
are just a few of Charlie’s charms.
crunchy crumbs
from sleepy eyes
and fingernails
unsanitized.
peeling skin
from burning sun
and dandruff flakes
one thousand one.
All these sunny things, so gnarly
will serve to recommend Our Charlie.

A fight in the night

I had the darkest dream last night
It pinned me to my bed
A humming buzz of blackishness
was leaning o’er my head

Its eyes were but a sickly gleam
Its curtains brushed my chest
Its leathered hands upon my mouth
my heartbeat did arrest

My hands and feet were flailing fast
to break this evil dream
I shouted out, but only cast
a smother-muffled scream.

a squeezing of the throat it gave
I thought I would be killed.
but morning broke this devil’s cave,
this darkness, unfulfilled.

Eighteen. The rolling green. With my Gravity Queen.

On the last doorstep before green, I stand.
The mossy carpet rolls and ripples to the very jamb.
From away. Away.

These three have seen me, shepherded me,
sung me, into their house of home.
How long I have slept the sleep I do not know.

We awaken, four, in muslin robes.
Hands, sleeves, embraces long.
And now, the morning vista seen,
I swell with desire for the rolling green.

Our woman, our Queen
encircles my waist
and we float.
She laughs a hearty laugh, and lets go.

I have been touched, and I move through the airs with her.
I anticipate. I know…
every blade, every knoll, what comes next, what might be at the end.
Our muslins flapping, our hands entwined, we smile to each other.
Me and my Auntie Gravity.

We two

I always use that old chipped green coffee mug.
I never could tell you why.
Stupid secret from another time.
Antiques that follow me.

Our old ice cream haunt from the decades
died this summer.
You began your folding, too.
Still you soldier on,
wearing regret that you could not incite me
to a life.

We come home to the warm room.
Awkward furniture, arranged oddly.
Not encouraging real warmth.
There’s a plush chair, the odd man out, never sat in,
except by the cat.
Company be damned.

I undress for bed.
Pull the car keys and change from my pockets.
Bypassing the proper places,
I lay the keys on a soft stack of facecloths,
the change on a wooly sock, also out of place.
Quiet private wishes,
vicarious comfort for the bones.

Where is the green cup, I ask.

Bright sun, Fall winds

in the suddenness of blustery gust
leaves of crimson, orange, and rust

spangling the stained glass sky
in celebration, before they die

the weight

i loved your stretch marks
just above the crease of your thigh meets belly
pastel beige on tan
soft supple skin

i nibbled your earlobes
delighting in sucking air
through your empty piercings
you laughed and told me to stop
though it was always the first thing i did

you smiled and picked the strawberries off my back
put your popsicle toes between my nicely warm knees
woke me gently, but insistently, at 3 a.m.

that was then

something, now, I do not know
unfulfilled
we’re no good anymore
each for each

if i am not what you want
then leave me now
let me not shrivel you
it’s such a waste

i will miss you some

i dream of some soul that wants me
i am tired unto death
of living the life of your disapproval
if, every day, i am not enough,
why do you cling
and what do you think will happen
if you stay?