One way entry,
a student discount,
keep the crowds moving,
and those bitties silent.
A tour of the cells--
the Freud of criminology,
the pedophile of ancient religion,
the drug dealer at recess,
and the schizophrenic
in your mama's bed.
Each brick
and chisel
bang their entrances,
rope their exits,
the storm is coming
and your windows
just
broke.
Your neighbor's child
goes missing in the
bathtub,
your friend's mirror
cuts her wrists,
your uncle's prescription
jumped down his throat.
The storm is here
and waiting for you.
It's hair burns butterflies,
it's tentacles squeeze sunsets,
"When this is all over,"
she promises
"you won't recognize
the beach from
Hades' feet."
It all looks
the same, anyways.
Dry mounds,
rubbery carcasses,
and bricks of metal,
evidence of misdeeds,
awfully painful for
Hades, of course.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Come Home With Me
Feel the warm air around you.
The ceiling fans steady rhythm
and the heaviness of pale eyelids over your vibrant,
blue eyes.
Sleep upon antique rockers
made of pineapple fibers,
or lay yourself down on lush
Persian carpets.
Light a flame on wrought iron candelabras
and let the wind from Philippine Sea
and Indian Ocean reignite your spirit’s calm.
Sit on the kitchen counter top
as I preheat the oven.
Then pick two onions from the vegetable garden,
unpeel them,
slice them into halves,
and cut imperfect vertical lines for me.
Don’t shield your eyes – let them cry because I cannot.
Throw them into the pan
with melted butter,
let its golden smell console you as we watch
and stir,
over Chilean Malbec, and
dreams and seeds planted in college.
Set the table
with fine china and strong silver
while I massage fresh herbs and ground pepper into
the pure folds of seabass.
When my family comes,
exhausted by the chores of school and office
To us
preparing a small banquet...
smile.
ask them how they are
carefully listen to their answer.
The response does not lie in their words,
but in the beats and rests of their voices.
When they compliment us on a well-prepared dinner,
accept it with another pour of good red wine.
Take your time.
Relax and unfold at this table.
Dinner will last another two hours.
Don’t fret.
It will end with a mug of fresh, warm milk
and a ripe orange mango.
Retire to your bedroom,
the one I set up just for you,
with the deep blue walls,
archaic lamps,
dim yellow lights,
and the sight of angry seas.
And if you can’t sleep
(and don’t want to wake me.)
Walk around my home like it is your own.
Stand at compositions,
in every angle and light,
and think.
Of the multitudes of memories we are going to make
within these safe walls.
The ceiling fans steady rhythm
and the heaviness of pale eyelids over your vibrant,
blue eyes.
Sleep upon antique rockers
made of pineapple fibers,
or lay yourself down on lush
Persian carpets.
Light a flame on wrought iron candelabras
and let the wind from Philippine Sea
and Indian Ocean reignite your spirit’s calm.
Sit on the kitchen counter top
as I preheat the oven.
Then pick two onions from the vegetable garden,
unpeel them,
slice them into halves,
and cut imperfect vertical lines for me.
Don’t shield your eyes – let them cry because I cannot.
Throw them into the pan
with melted butter,
let its golden smell console you as we watch
and stir,
over Chilean Malbec, and
dreams and seeds planted in college.
Set the table
with fine china and strong silver
while I massage fresh herbs and ground pepper into
the pure folds of seabass.
When my family comes,
exhausted by the chores of school and office
To us
preparing a small banquet...
smile.
ask them how they are
carefully listen to their answer.
The response does not lie in their words,
but in the beats and rests of their voices.
When they compliment us on a well-prepared dinner,
accept it with another pour of good red wine.
Take your time.
Relax and unfold at this table.
Dinner will last another two hours.
Don’t fret.
It will end with a mug of fresh, warm milk
and a ripe orange mango.
Retire to your bedroom,
the one I set up just for you,
with the deep blue walls,
archaic lamps,
dim yellow lights,
and the sight of angry seas.
And if you can’t sleep
(and don’t want to wake me.)
Walk around my home like it is your own.
Stand at compositions,
in every angle and light,
and think.
Of the multitudes of memories we are going to make
within these safe walls.
day 4, poem4 - persecute
Persecute
for Aja, Baz, Lauren
1.
When I am attacked, I feel
a humming inside my chest.
Watch.
It does not come
from the throats of the birds,
there, but from their wings
beating, beating, hard – a machine
revving with all my love
for you. Oh come, come,
to kill me. I haven't
the best of guts for protecting
myself from the wounds
you have to carry, carry.
2.
On my way back from the prison
today, I flew.
Truck rumble on my left, freeway
on my right.
My body, a bass clef bent
deep over the handlebars
of my bicycle, head tucked
in like that – the birds
there, sing and sing and sing.
They carry your name, your name.
3.
Every morning I awake
I stare and stare into the mirror
until I can look myself in the face.
Every morning – this; this is what
it takes to be me – Nobody
chastizes me as much as I do.
I look until I find something
familiar, something to make my heart,
slow – Some mornings, nothing
doing. I can't find what I need
and then ; only prayer, only prayer.
4.
To steady yourself on your knees
hold the abdominals tight
tuck in the buttocks – outstretch
the arms, palms turned up
hold the shoulders back.
Chant a mantra, a psalm
Chant something that will begin
in the belly, migrate down to the knees
and wheeling, like a bird, arrive
eventually in the chest, and startled
awaken the hum there and fly
out your open mouth.
Call it song, call it argument
call it blessing that when attacked
you become more beautiful
you become heraldic
in your bearing, in your mouth
in your throat, the humming
nothing but song
nothing but song
for Aja, Baz, Lauren
1.
When I am attacked, I feel
a humming inside my chest.
Watch.
It does not come
from the throats of the birds,
there, but from their wings
beating, beating, hard – a machine
revving with all my love
for you. Oh come, come,
to kill me. I haven't
the best of guts for protecting
myself from the wounds
you have to carry, carry.
2.
On my way back from the prison
today, I flew.
Truck rumble on my left, freeway
on my right.
My body, a bass clef bent
deep over the handlebars
of my bicycle, head tucked
in like that – the birds
there, sing and sing and sing.
They carry your name, your name.
3.
Every morning I awake
I stare and stare into the mirror
until I can look myself in the face.
Every morning – this; this is what
it takes to be me – Nobody
chastizes me as much as I do.
I look until I find something
familiar, something to make my heart,
slow – Some mornings, nothing
doing. I can't find what I need
and then ; only prayer, only prayer.
4.
To steady yourself on your knees
hold the abdominals tight
tuck in the buttocks – outstretch
the arms, palms turned up
hold the shoulders back.
Chant a mantra, a psalm
Chant something that will begin
in the belly, migrate down to the knees
and wheeling, like a bird, arrive
eventually in the chest, and startled
awaken the hum there and fly
out your open mouth.
Call it song, call it argument
call it blessing that when attacked
you become more beautiful
you become heraldic
in your bearing, in your mouth
in your throat, the humming
nothing but song
nothing but song
para mima
thought of you today because of this headache
i know there are better times to think of the dead
than during caffeine withdrawals
but the most important thing you ever taught me
is that vick’s vapor rub cures everything
i rubbed it on my temples this morning
because of that summer
you chased me around your house
bare feet on the tile
oppressive caribbean heat
making it too difficult for me to run away
you’d catch up to me
in better shape than i was, even at eighty six
and smear my fourteen year old face with it
telling me it would clear up my skin
and help me find a husband
you’d rub it on my back if you heard me cough
and cover it up with a paper towel
so it wouldn’t get on what you said
was a too skimpy tank top
i was too scared of you
to tell you i sounded like that
because id been out late smoking
and not because i was catching a cold
dead in the middle of a dominican summer
a jar of it would sit on the credenza
next to where we ate
right by tio rafael’s picture
just in case anything went wrong on the trip
from the living room to the kitchen
for fear of getting it slathered on again
because i was thought to be sick, i’d eat
or else risk hearing for an hour
about how eating and scratching
are really the same thing:
all you have to do is start
you’d have me rub it on your aching muscles
while we watched telenovelas
and you explained to me that laura leon of mujeres enganadas
was not just an actress, but should be my role model
you slipped a mini jar of my own into my bag
when i left that year
with a note reminding me to go to church
and not kiss too many boys
and that vick’s cures everything
gracias, mima
headache’s gone now
thought of you today because of this headache
i know there are better times to think of the dead
than during caffeine withdrawals
but the most important thing you ever taught me
is that vick’s vapor rub cures everything
i rubbed it on my temples this morning
because of that summer
you chased me around your house
bare feet on the tile
oppressive caribbean heat
making it too difficult for me to run away
you’d catch up to me
in better shape than i was, even at eighty six
and smear my fourteen year old face with it
telling me it would clear up my skin
and help me find a husband
you’d rub it on my back if you heard me cough
and cover it up with a paper towel
so it wouldn’t get on what you said
was a too skimpy tank top
i was too scared of you
to tell you i sounded like that
because id been out late smoking
and not because i was catching a cold
dead in the middle of a dominican summer
a jar of it would sit on the credenza
next to where we ate
right by tio rafael’s picture
just in case anything went wrong on the trip
from the living room to the kitchen
for fear of getting it slathered on again
because i was thought to be sick, i’d eat
or else risk hearing for an hour
about how eating and scratching
are really the same thing:
all you have to do is start
you’d have me rub it on your aching muscles
while we watched telenovelas
and you explained to me that laura leon of mujeres enganadas
was not just an actress, but should be my role model
you slipped a mini jar of my own into my bag
when i left that year
with a note reminding me to go to church
and not kiss too many boys
and that vick’s cures everything
gracias, mima
headache’s gone now
Stake
I heard someone make a zombie
joke about Jesus. I laughed
really hard. At church on Easter,
I wanted to take communion twice
because I was hungry.
My dad laughed at this.
The babies cried and
fathers carried them out.
When everyone said hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah,
they might as well have been saying
my area code is..., or my birthday is...,
or spelling their last names,
although I've heard people
sound more excited
for those things.
I stared at my high school crush
in his suit. If I'd had his number,
I would have texted him
to meet me in the bathroom
but I didn't know if he cared
about all the prayers and shit.
I'd never seen so many
hooker heels in one place,
and on such young girls.
joke about Jesus. I laughed
really hard. At church on Easter,
I wanted to take communion twice
because I was hungry.
My dad laughed at this.
The babies cried and
fathers carried them out.
When everyone said hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah,
they might as well have been saying
my area code is..., or my birthday is...,
or spelling their last names,
although I've heard people
sound more excited
for those things.
I stared at my high school crush
in his suit. If I'd had his number,
I would have texted him
to meet me in the bathroom
but I didn't know if he cared
about all the prayers and shit.
I'd never seen so many
hooker heels in one place,
and on such young girls.
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