This could be a serious crime.
The potato bug stands no chance against us.
Split in two, symmetrically divided, green lumps of flesh.
“It is still moving,” he says.
“Yes, yes, it is.”
**
Out back in the old metal Airstream I spy my sister
Having sex with her History teacher.
That evening I see him at the grocery store.
He buys gin.
My mother, vodka
**
In the canyon the desert sun pulls my bare legs.
We split tuna sandwiches
as you tell me about your mother. Your hand finds
It’s way up my shirt. I let you in.
**
In the green leaf of the North we wrap our bodies.
“Get out of bed,” you scream from the kitchen.
I cannot move from this bed.
I practice elevation.
I am liquid, fluid.
I float above this bed; my body can thread a hoop.
No strings attach.
I am still in bed.
A rock at the bottom of the river.
**
We are all drawn to the impossible.
**
I burry it in an abalone box.
In a soft hole somewhere
The earth carries
My burdens.
At night I hear you whisper “dig.”
**
Mother is dying, I
Decorate her room for the holidays.
Orange peels and cloves tangle with
the soft hint of urine.
I take comfort in the pile of clothes
Left unfolded on the floor
In the shape of a child.
**
We are by the sea in an open windowed
Wallpapered room. The water has pulled
Up its roots. It has curled back.
It is waiting. It is split in two.
“I’m beginning to love you,” he says.
“Be quiet and keep pulling,” I say.
2 comments:
Sorry that it took me awhile to comment. I really like the idea of time passing in these little snippets. I also really like how all of the verbs are active' it gives a sense that, even though the speaker seems to be advancing in age, they are all happening in the now. I also like the notions of pulling and tugging and their relation to the idea of gravity. I don';t know if I made any sense, but this is good, and I am glad to have you back.
Welcome back. I really like the balance of this poem and how later stanzas match earlier stanzas. I also like the dichotomy of the split apart and the brought together. The contrast of the images makes me think of how difficult it is to keep things together, but how easily it is to tear them apart. I've notice a lot of your poems deal with unattainable love. Is this one of the poems for your vignette collection?
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