with the words
O my brothers
O my brothers
Anthony Burgess
stings my ears with
a new kind of violence
just as the wind
stings my skin
and the sun
stings the cold away
and before i miss it
i stop, the rogue farm
on one side of my
place in this world,
the corporate conglomerate
on the other,
and snap the photos
to record the moment:
2,000 miles in
not twelve, but eleven months,
the same day i discover
i’ve walked fifty in seven days
(108,688 steps)
and though they are numbers
(just numbers?)
they represent everything
that is possible,
that i believe,
that i thinkicanithinkicanithinkican
do in this world.
weather
Sunday Eight
autumn visited
for a few wind-chilly hours
today summer’s here.
a ride across town
with a strong daughter attached
is like a new day.
three banjos, a drum
and voices singing kids’ songs
make Sunday perfect.
bike jerseys aren’t cheap,
so it’s a good thing I’m small
and fit a child’s size.
your question is lost
but we can find an answer
if we look deeper.
these boys like their meat
as much as Isabella
ate super porridge.
Riona’s face grins
in my palm like an angel
wrapped up with love.
no one can mess with
Mythili, who already
knows all the books’ words.
Parts of Speech
Nouns:
circles and chains
sunshine and wisps
pavement and dirt
grass and trees
giggles and smiles
Adjectives:
silver and black
warm and blue
smooth and rough
prickly and shady
bubbly and bright
Verbs:
pedal and spin
blare and float
pound and push
lie and relax
laugh and scream
Veins
in windowless hell i sit
surrounded by computers.
technology seethes into my veins,
hard plastic pounds my ass.
keyboards and mice click
like the rodents they ought to be.
sighs and questions filter into
the stuffy dark room.
i am here but i am not here.
my mind, just like theirs,
wanders down the hallway,
out the door, into the open air.
i can picture the pedals,
the tires taking me home,
the summer heat seeping through me
like blood through my veins.
i can feel the bath-warm water
lapping around our naked skin,
his hands on my back in the soft
moments of a Kentucky summer.
in windowless hell i sit
surrounded by computers.
technology seethes into my veins,
gives me the keys to take me home.
Everything Included
we could walk
but we prefer to ride
they hop in
with three pennies,
jubilant voices,
and a mission.
we arrive at the
perfectly painted plastic horse
covered in vinyl saddle
where they climb up and down
riding like pro cowgirls
when five minutes have passed
they head for the cookie aisle
where disappointment sits
plainly on the empty tray.
instead, we pack on our helmets
to continue our weekday adventure,
the wind blowing allergen-ridden dust,
remnants of summer’s sun
beating down on our backs.
i follow the oldest, who
weaves like a drunk driver
through the sidewalk,
into the street,
everywhere her heart takes her.
a giant, loud-mouthed dog
greets our arrival. we reach
with skinny arms into
the abundantly fat-with-fruit trees,
pulling down ripe green pears,
apples with red dimples.
the dog continues to carry on,
and just as i wonder if he’s here
as a warning for us to leave,
a woman’s voice calls over the fence,
“Take as many as you can.”
And we do, the tangy juice
of tiny homegrown fruits
sliding down the girls’ chins,
dripping into the pile at the bottom
of the trailer, sweetening
our end-of-summer afternoon,
sweetening our time here, now.
everything included:
the bikes,
the horse,
the absent cookie,
the fruit,
for three pennies,
jubilant children,
and a mission.
Patio
how nice
as fall closes in
that we sit here with our dinner
(one last time?)
and listen
as the wind whistles
through our getting-taller trees
and the girls dive on and off
their matching swings
and the dry air tickles
our perfect-temp skin
and we can be, just be,
the perfect family.
Young Blood
caked in dirt as thick as frosting,
dripping in young-blooded sweat,
hand-carved spears cutting the air,
savage screams of hungry hunters,
sparkling laughter thrown into the wind,
they emerge from the forested fort.
not once in forty-eight hours
have iPodiPadMacBookCellPhone
inundated their young blood
(nor our old blood)
and without a single complaint,
we gather them together so
caked in sticky white clouds of s’mores,
campfire-smoke-ridden clothing and skin,
hot metal spears cutting into the ash,
thrilled screams of sugar highs,
sparkling laughter thrown into the stars,
they emerge from the perfect weekend.
Thinking
i may not see it through their eyes
or feel it through their legs
but the mountain lures me
and i can already sense the wind at my back
hear the spinning rubber on pavement
the thin air tightening in my lungs
and the sweet smell of pine calling me home.
it may seem crazy (and it always is with me)
but i will chase that train
climb that mountain
win that race
if only for my legs
my eyes
my heart.
with a pedal of determination
i will be just like the little blue engine
of my youth,
thinking my way to the top
thinking
thinking
thinking
all. the. way. down
to where everything tastes
better on the other side of the mountain.
Constellation
just when we have stars to search for
the clouds cover the sky
a gray-yellow windswept blanket
of cool air that blows
the fire’s ashes into our faces.
it breathes whining into their voices
but isn’t strong enough
to carry me away
on a blanket of puffy nighttime clouds
back to my home
my backbone
my place to be me.
in a mostly futile attempt
they hold their glittery black star papers
under the eerie blue light of
crank-up flashlights,
then shine them anxiously
into the night sky.
a few stars tease us
but not enough to create a constellation
and their rays of light
search the holes in the blanket
for the hope, the possibility
of seeing what we all know is not there.
Silver Circle
you may have taken it once
but now you slide it into my palm
like a shiny new silver coin
cold and sleek against the nerve endings
i clutch it with my fingertips,
pressing, hoping it will soak up
our bodies’ heat.
(we can pretend) that you really did
snatch that shining circle out of the sky
years back or months ago
it is ours now
i open my fingers and place it
on the rough center of my tongue
(despite my efforts, its purity
keeps it cool in my mouth)
you want a taste
and its light encircles us in the yard
crickets singing love songs
wind tickling the still-summer leaves
stars peeking out, competing for room
distant traffic reminding us where we are
(we are here, we are here, we are here!)
i give it to you
the silver circle that you know i love
that we love together
and with our lips open (our hearts open)
we pass our moon back and forth.
the cold seeps away, draining into the bed
of warmth, of love we have created here tonight.
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