60 years. I'm naked with folding days and nights,
years and decades slipping thru my arms
like shiny material for a dress I'll never make.
I pricked my thumb with Sleeping Beauty's needle
and sleep less and less.
The hedge of thorns grows under my skin.
But I'm not waiting for a licorice prince,
my bed's been rumpled by Rumplestiltskin.
Goblins gobble my sagging nipples.
Waking up alone and checking if all my limbs are still there
after a dream of armies, I catch a glimpse of a pirate flag
disappearing from my belly button
and kisses crawl thru my tangled hair
like heavenly cockroaches.
My lovers don't live in time and treat me like a silly child:
"We brought you candy, open wide." I do. Yes.
60 years. I thought I'd know things
but things know me.
I thought I'd give the ocean good advice
and knit a jacket for the wind
and sing a lullaby to a black garden stone
that can't forgive the sprawling, scented roses.
I wanted wisdom.
I'd made a reservation at the Last Supper.
The Buddha lifted an empty bowl for me to drink
and the Passover plate left outside for Elijah
had enough for 2, I was on my way.
But my lovers dragged me behind some bushes
and did unspeakable things with Kentucky Fried Chicken,
crunching my thoughts like potato chips
and leaving me in a gasping heap.
I didn't know where I was
but I hadn't tried to run away.
I wanted wisdom but what wanted me
laughs at wisdom, rudely, and waggles its tongue.
60 years. Each year I'm born again
and never get it quite right.
My lovers eat me like a birthday cake
JERUSALEM'S MIRROR
(from Step Into My Parlour, Zeitgeist Press)
Jerusalem was combing her long rolling hair,
her smoky prayers,
in front of a 3-way mirror
(one for each faith that despaired of her)
when another bus exploded
and the mirror splattered with blood.
Jerusalem touched the tip of one finger in the blood
and licked it clean
with a flick of her cat-tongue.
"I was looking for my own reflection under the blood,"
she told the Lord,
"but all I tasted was blood
and it all tastes the same.
Don't they have anything else to do?"
"They're also looking for your reflection
under the blood," the Lord answered,
"and when they die it's too late."
"I don't understand,"Jerusalem mused
"I've seen ambulances mate with vultures in mid-air,
both fighting over living meat,
all 3 screaming about love,
it's so ugly."
The Lord waved a hand in a mock magician's gesture
and the mirror was clean again.
Jerusalem sank into her own half-smile
like a hot bath at the end of a hard day.
"That's better," she said,
"but it's not an answer;
My stones overflow with broken faces,
machineguns emptied into the earth
shoot all the eyes out of potatoes
and I don't want to see either.
Even Death gets indigestion and takes Pepto-Bismol."
"And when they die it's too late,"
repeated the Lord.
"And when they live?" She glanced at the Lord,
her voice a husky whisper, one hand at her soft throat,
afraid, but daring him anyway.
"When they live it's for you.
They put stamps on their shadows
and mail them to you.
Can't you change this?"
The Lord looked at his hands a long time
and finally shook his head.
Neither spoke.
Jerusalem turned back to her mirror
and studied her glowing beauty but this time
she did not smile.
Julia's bio: "Julia Vinograd is a Berkeley Street poet. She has published 48 books of poetry and has three poetry CD collections: "Bubbles and Bones," "Eye of the Hand" and "The Book of Jerusalem." This year she received the Lifetime Achievement Award at the 5th Berkeley Poetry Festival (2004), and she has won the American Book Award of The Before Columbus Foundation. In addition to her numerous publications in magazines such as Street Spirit, she has also been published in the 9/11 Anthology called An Eye For An Eye Makes The Whole World Blind (Regent Press), The Outlaw Bible of american poetry (Thunder's Mouth Press), and Sacred Voices, Wit And Wisdom Of Women Through The Ages (Harper Collins). She received a B.A. from the University of California at Berkeley and an M.F.A. from the University of Iowa." Julia is also one of my best friends and I have much to thank her for. She helped David and I get together (and to this day we crack up when we remember how David tried to tell her that I just needed someone to talk to - very amusing since I am known to talk people's ears off), has introduced me to some wonderful and creative people, and has kept me on track with my writing with continual nudges I am ever thankful to receive. Few people are blessed with a friend whose talent shines like a burning star cast amongst the garbage in the street where it is needed the most - I am very blessed to call Julia
Vinograd my friend.
