SPOILS OF WAR
She should have felt something
that August day when the enemy, dressed in gray
led her father bound and blindfolded to the square.
She watched unblinking as they made him kneel.
They shouted and mocked until
an officer's pistol spat death.
her father fell forward, a red blossom
blooming from his head on the hot pavement.
She only vaguely realized she'd no longer endure
His scratchy beard, whiskey breath, and tobacco
stained teeth as he eased himself, muttering,
into her.
She should have felt something
as the soldiers came. Alone and hungry,
her house in ruins, she gave herself to them,
cement dust in her hair, rubble in her shoe.
A scabbard for their lust,
their moonish faces filled her vision,
surviving on the bits of chocolate they bestowed
and because she was pretty.
On her back, on a gray and white mattress,
she felt only the hunger in her belly.
She should have felt something
when they left, replaced by men in green,
kindly men, who gave her hot food, a cot, and a blanket.
One man with hair of straw, kind eyes, and gentle words
asked her an important question.
In a pliable consciousness she agreed to
leave and travel to his home,
to the tidy little cottage, down the road from a lighthouse.
She should have felt something
in her new home, or at the market, or in the church.
Smiling faces and bright eyes seen,
but their words a tumbling stream
slippery and elusive, running together nonsense.
Sometimes she managed a small smile or a nod
Before walking away on her husbands arm.
She should have felt something
as she rose from her marriage bed and walked
barefoot in her night dress across
the porch where she had rocked for hours on end,
the sea air in her hair and on her face.
Drawn to the light house, she did not feel
the razor grass as it bit her feet and nicked her legs.
She should have felt something
as she slipped from the cliff,
soaring
INQUIRY We've all seen the look, peered at over small reading glasses, so often secured by a chain. Interrupting their work. Will we have some valid reason to intrude? Will they smile, removing their glasses with a small clacking noise, or will their brows knit, and their eyes roll with exasperation at our ignorance? Our crusade for knowledge overcomes our fear of rebuke, so we ask again, feeling smallish.
PROGRESS Planet contracting Digital madness Faster, faster No time to stop and revel
Buy, Sell, Trade the family unit the price paid no languid moments in tall wet grass no juicy tomatoes slurped barefoot in the rows videotape or video games poor substitutes for parenting or paying attention
Small hands no longer held crossing streets instead in daycare before daybreak and picked up after the last meeting has run too long
Sliding quickly towards death not taking the time to live, to sit quietly at waters edge or marvel at the beauty of a singular blossom but more than willing to interrupt a meal to answer the cellular phone
GIVER Extraordinary people with an extraordinary capacity to give to everyone but themselves. Quick to rescue a naturally deselected Fledgling or Stop the car for a sore covered Mongrel.
Thinking that pouring themselves out Fills them up somehow and Feeding themselves is Diminishing.
Not realizing pouring water in a hole will make mud but tapping an inner spring will make a lake.
SAFE
Hot tears of loss
And disappointment as
She makes the choice to stay in
her gilded cage.
Moments before perched on the ledge
contemplating flight,
unsure if her atrophied
wings could carry her, or
if she even wanted them to.
Afraid to risk, angry about staying,
she withdraws to the safety of her roost.
Miserable, but safe.
FAST FOOD AND LACE
It's late going home
The guy behind me smacks his lips mauling
Fries, gulping fast not
Pausing to taste or chew
I prefer a drink or two in
Styrofoam cups with ill fitting lids
Sipping my cocktail
While watching the latina
on the lower level flip
through the latest glossy
lingerie catalog
smelling ketchup now while
looking at merry widows
trying to decide between
red or black
he hiccups and deserves it
They now offer wigs?
When did they start that?
I need to order something
There he goes again!
Just to get on the mailing list
Barely concealed giggles
As he lurches three times
In succession
My face glows red
Under the florescent lights
Oh! What lovely swimsuits!
DON'T Don't tell me you love me You don't love me, only the thought of me Of what I may be like To tell the truth I'm not very nice
I'm ornery and moody, grouchy and introspective I goes days without speaking and Months without being quiet
This face you see, it is not me It's easy to be attentive A few hours at a time, but after that I just want to lay about, drink a beer and read or watch TV
Don't tell me you love me some days I don't shower I scratch my butt, and pick my nose Sometimes I wear clothes taken from the hamper, not wanting to dirty something clean if I'm not going out
Don't tell me you love me, you know me not only the shade of my kindness and not the blast furnace of my anger. My gentle patience, not The exasperation when others think too slowly
Don't base your want on dreams untold. It's not fair to me and certainly not to you. For nothing can come but heartache and remorse and Of these two dishes I've had my fill Don't say you love me
NIGHT TERROR
Glowing light in the darkness
Elicits terrorized, quavering voice
Rational explanations offered but not accepted
Soft smear of light in
A windowless room
Witnessed by both
Invoking wide-eyed hysteria
Hands clutching
then beating,
fluttering against my chest
like a moth in a web
Hackles raised investigation
And a firefly gives its life for empiricism
a twenty minute vigil proves the hypothesis
Embarrassed, and unable to
Accept
understanding or compassion
She leaves
JELLO SARDINES
They sit in isolation
While packed in like sardines
Self imposed exile on a crowded train
This one reads the Wall Street Journal
In a navy suit so neat
That one read the bible
Finding comfort in the words
as her feet do in her Naturalizers.
Many with headphones on sustaining
their own environment
Seventy souls packed in a car
yet not a word is spoken
silence broken by tinny voice
announcing the next stop
then back to quiet bubbles
that change their shape
and press up against each other
like molded jello's placed too
closely in a jar
PRIORITIES
She's a good soul, and gives
them sandwiches and cigarettes
at the entrance of their cardboard condo.
These invisible men,
she sees, as men,
and reaches out with caring hand,
somehow able to extend more
kindness than some give their families.
These specters rummage through
ashtrays outside the office towers,
hoping to score a few drags from a
discarded butt.
She'll hand them several cigarettes
from her personal pack hoping
to protect their pride
At Christmas she gave hats and gloves to
ward off the chill, and returned
a week later when the offices reopened.
Handing over a sandwich she asks about the gloves.
"I traded them for a bottle" he admits to
his angel of mercy.
She pauses,
Then hands over the cellophaned
Roast beef on wheat
I ask her why she does this, and
she just smiles,
"It could be me."
COMMUTER
Face flushed from winter's wind
Nose running
The comb over blown astray
He makes his way down the isle
Looking to find a place to sit
but not choosing an available spot
Is it because the lady there is too fat?
Is it because the girl is too young?
Does he not wish to bother the paper reading
union worker?
Switching tracks the car lurches
and his eyes reflect his dismay
briefcase, laptop, coffee all weigh him down
but he does not fall
He mounts the step to the upper deck
and discovers the singles full
unwilling to share the jumpseats
he mutters
and returns from whence he came
the last image of a
blue-coated, disheveled
pack animal
BLOCK
Waiting to catch the falling fruit
Under the tree of thought
Today no Newtonian apple
Only the silence of drought
Some days they fall down like rain
easy pickings of love or pain
other days nary a clue
but I sit here waiting if they do
Shall I run madly about,
holding my apron to catch them should
they decide to come
or
shall I sit quietly,
empty,
waiting for the perfect one
So much to say but no
words here
my page a slate, the
emptiness queer
But not to worry
nor to fret
for when they come
my thoughts you'll get
IDLE SUMMER
Riding bikes, shirtless
Poles over the handlebars
Nightcrawlers in a styrofoam container
with a tight fitting lid in the bag
with a cheese sandwich
The tar patches
skritch, skritching
as our wheels rolled over
leaving knobby indentations
in the black ribbons
The creek reached,
improbable shallow flow,
cow wallow,
separated from the highway
by an electric fence
"No fish in 'dere" the
farmer once scoffed,
but we knew better
jabbing iridescent crawlers
onto bronze hooks still
adorned with dried bits
of the previous outings bait
A flick, small wet splat,
hunkering down to wait,
rustling corn shimmering in the heat,
earth pungent with manure,
savoring stolen cigarettes
Tap, tap, tap
shhhh look!
Tap, tap, tap, tap
GOT'EM!
The tiny pop-eyed bullhead
Wrestled off the hook
And tossed back in
Too small to keep,
enough to keep us coming back
to the creek that ran out of
the pasture and
under the road
GUESS WHAT
Girls?
Yes, Daddy?
Guess What?
We know, we know, you love us.
Should I stop saying it?
Never Daddy!
At first I was afraid that they
would not feel the boundless
love I have for them
but I have tried to let them
know
whether in prides warm glow
or tempers harsh flare
that I always, always, care
Years ago tears broke
my heart as they grieved
their parent's split
with gentle tenacity,
I held them close until their sobs
They quit
Now that time has passed
our actions give them peace
of mind
and heart
they are learning life is good
and continues at measured
pace
I suppose the day will come
as they strike out on their own
my job of molding finally done,
my input they may seek
but the choices then their own
I hope they can pass on
the love I gave to them
Girls?
Yes, Dad?
Guess what?
