Do not gaze into the sleep
of the pungent bedroom
as you wonder
what is the number for
the nearest doctor.
The last visit of Aunt LucilaFor over thirty years
she has complained about her brother
-sixty years of being the richest
in the family
and now he can´t sit down;
his briefs hate all the pus
her other family
-mentally retarded brothers,
a husband who left her
(ah but she does not mentione he drifted away
to have some silence in his ears)
and a son who
into and outo
but she always showered gold
leaves on her aunt
the aunt that always
fed her clothed her
took her to school
and taught her to be
the pride of her generation
-How many of us
started to work
your ungrateful family
nevef cared about you?
I have only heard of
only once or twice in a year
and I have never heard rants
over how Aunt Lucille
forgot her meds,
lost her appointments
forgot her checks
forgot to wear clean clothes
forgot to bathe
forgot to clean herself up
-Like her brothers
(but being eighty
is a shitty time
even if she does
The sliding grays Throw your extra arm into the thrash!
The world swims, the soil swims
and genes will detemine
that your hands will never
be able to grasp anything
at thirty you haven´t grasped
your own life
every pendulum of your feet
will be a staggering wave
a silent room
buried in a bed
like a retiree
waiting for the mailman
with her emergency medicines
Air crisisLet me think
but time will go on
to become bluer and bluer
redder and redder
while his machine
silently blares its alarms
Will his oxigen
of seventy eight years
the next call
what will you tell me
about your brother
when you call
at three thirty?
Rubber cheeseYou are molten
into the rain
-you no longer have walls:
the cold gray of the sky
is your May abode-
floorplanks are liquid in your kitchen
and your tongue
does not know
if it is eating
Zootopia Poem: TogetherA single casket, two inside, both were laying side by side.
No room betwixt them that one could eye.
Their paws still entwined.
As in life, in death their mortal years had run.
Their work adored for days and years, while within their own silent tears...lay a hope, a future, as bright as dawn for the city they long called home.
Finally, they lay at ease, their family gathered 'round their final rest. A handsome smile, a warm embrace...the memories of them time may erase but for the ones held in the hearts of those gathered round those parts.
Hope did fill their tear stained hearts.
A bugle raised a mournful tune, antithesis to the mortal duo who lay at rest, finally at peace...something they hoped their city could reach.
A sagging head...
Eyes laid low, not sad, not caked with dread...
...but filled instead with memories of their friends, heroes...alive in mind but in body now dead.
For those who stared upon the remains of on
august's skeleton.Sunburnt freedom of July
we come tumbling in the auburn joy of boredom
down the spine of summer.
And spelled in the scabs on your knees
is the innocent insolence
scuffing the corners of your memory:
all hyperbole, grinning toothless bravery
swallowed in your father's coat,
whipping around corners and slipping
out of a chiaroscuro childhood.
For Nelson MandelaIn this cup, I once held the world;
you were so tiny, skin like starlight
against my worn and tired hands.
In the years and the hate,
I could not always keep you
close. I gave my life
to piercing the darkness
and you, cupped in these hands,
you gave me light. You forged
my knees straight and standing
when I wanted them to buckle. This world
I have tried to build
is suddenly empty -
these cracked fingers, once etching
the course of the river of history,
no longer hold water.
Let the Sparrows InI.
Blackbirds rest on the power lines,
their silhouettes form the notation
to a dawn song set on the sheet music
of telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
on the lawn where imprints of twigs
and a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
porch step railings and mailboxes;
the numbers read odd on the east,
even on the west side of the asphalt:
The engraved letters on
the siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
so let the sparrows in.
with its branching hallways
furniture rooted to the floor
family, friends, the occasional
out from home.
Let the sparrows in; let
Let the door's
loosen—let the door stand ajar
be let open
the night owls and
let the doves
in pairs in the iridescent
Let the sparrows in.
Framed on either side
Be strongThe white rooms filled with sorrow,
Here they left him, his family.
Yet, they would never be apple to follow,
The dead path he was going to walk alone,
Cold and heavy.
In the darkness when it falls,
Only some light can be seen, glowing from the hospital.
Footsteps heard from the halls.
Whom you might wonder was it in general?
He peeks from his bed.
The silence is making the painful night worse.
The sight he saw, will the boy never forget.
The dark cape he saw that night, reminded of the doom,
Days went, weeks longer, months painful,
The boy grew weaker and weaker.
Death now grabbed his soul,
The boy wanted his life. He was eager
To keep it.
A laughter heard, the boy peeked,
There, standing for the first time,
This was what he seeked.
His little happy 1-year-old sister stood with a smile.
Her first steps, in front of his very eyes,
It lighted the darkness of his world
His sorrow, away they flies.
Tear dripping from his cheek as he curled.
His bloody eyes and thin body,
To My SisterYou dress like a Disney Princess,
And play with pretty dolls;
Your laughter warms our hearts,
Your smile lifts our souls.
You stumble when you walk,
And you can’t say my name;
You dance to invisible music,
Everyone says we’re the same.
You have curly blonde hair,
And big brown eyes;
A smiling flower of a face,
And chubby baby thighs.
You will grow to be big,
And you will change;
You’ll learn the world’s scary,
As much as it is strange.
If I could give you one tip,
And know that you’d follow it,
It’d be: be who you are,
Live like there’s no tomorrow.
Don’t strive for beauty,
Don’t live for lies;
Find beauty in living and
Keep putting beauty into
Other people’s lives.
MotherAs you sweat over petunias,
I watch shadows
pour from chlorophyll branches.
when delphiniums bloom,
on your roses.
You tramp with shovels, rakes,
And garden hoes,
dancing in lime green galoshes,
to the passing tempo of July.
All while my minutes bunch
at the windowsill,
a half-done row of knitting
cast aside. I recollect my thread and leave
to forage for dinner in the kitchen.
still,"i want grandchildren."
that car ride ruined some things
threw a wine bottle at the wall
15 years sitting
it was good enough or
it wasn't good enough
all the silence forced
my pride to jump out the window
if any rested in her
she showed it off like a speech bubble
tied it to her teeth
slammed it in the door
had it under her pillow for months
and years and years and years
there was no statement
there was no outstretched hand
just steering wheel clenching
knuckles white and jaw taut
(all because who i bed was not her mindful of
i still think i'm a tumor
she shows it off like a speeding ticket
i put a pin through it
i put it on her sweater
she never wears it
Framed[ I met him at the county fair.
It wasn't like the songs predicted;
I had mud up my shins and he
had grass in his hair. What a mess. ]
[ I kissed him at my grandma's house.
He swallowed me and digested me;
I became a part of his simmering self.
We fused together, and I died. ]
[ I married him in a triangular church,
When I turned up in white he grinned
and whispered "what, no muddy knees?".
I put a leaf from my bouquet in his hair. ]
[ He kissed her at my grandma's house.
She had left it to us when she passed.
In the house where I'd learned about love
he taught me all I know about betrayal. ]
[ He left me at the train station.
I'd helped him with his leather suitcase,
struggling to get a grip of the situation
I gave a habitual kiss goodbye. Awkward. ]
[ He met another girl in group therapy.
They had a mad, passionate affair for a year
then, it expired. Shortly after, she did too.
He came to me, life turning to sand. ]
[ I forgave him at my birthday party
surrounded by friends wh