My winter breath mouths Morse code--
Orion's belt always a beacon--
a solitary walk back to the car.
I am the protagonist of my story.
The North Star--
pinnacle of the Big Dipper--
my northern star from Lake Minnetonka.
When I was little, I thought it was our star,
meant for Minnesota.
I've always loved the sound of
high heels on the linoleum.
Sunday mornings in the kitchen--
coffee with the funnies, and Mom
is dressed up for church.
A grown woman can wear high heels.
My teacher used to tell me,
(out in the hall, one hand on my shoulder)
"Don't roll your eyes at me--
You have an attitude problem, young lady."
Young women are prone to "attitude problems."
Add ten years--what would my teacher say?
This is what I have learned in college.
An authoritative strut--how to walk in high heels.
How to question--
how to tilt my head upward on a clear night.
How to wear an olive beret--style.
"Too talkative in class."
How to be alone.
May 2005
Sunday, May 1, 2011
two-liners
generic as a stamp
go mail yourself
I'll leave you my Nag Champa.
By the time I get back, it should smell alright.
slide, pop--slopping sweet
sinks the seven ball, side pocket
you can bite--but only when it's
dark out
He shakes his ten-dollar bill in a leathered hand
studded with carats, impatient for the check.
They brought me my cat--dead and
frozen--and I thought they would kill me.
The church is like the bank--
It's not actually real.
May 2005
go mail yourself
I'll leave you my Nag Champa.
By the time I get back, it should smell alright.
slide, pop--slopping sweet
sinks the seven ball, side pocket
you can bite--but only when it's
dark out
He shakes his ten-dollar bill in a leathered hand
studded with carats, impatient for the check.
They brought me my cat--dead and
frozen--and I thought they would kill me.
The church is like the bank--
It's not actually real.
May 2005
Sour Salt
"Hello, just the two of you?"
I slide the menus on the table and nearly spill the water.
"Yes--I'd like a margarita, please, on the rocks."
Someone looks like she needs a drink.
"Alright, and you, sir?"
Darts fly. "Just give me a minute."
The blender whirrs, muffling their crossfire.
The limes are past their prime, but they won't notice.
"Here you go, ma'am. Have you decided, sir?"
"I'll just have a margarita. I don't think
we're going to order anything else."
"No," she says, "we'll just have drinks."
"Another round?"
His brow furrows.
"No, we'll take the check."
She shoves the ten dollar bill at me.
He fretfully pats for his wallet. "Come on--"
"No, don't--"
He huffs with exaggeration.
I take the money from
her shaking hand.
I bus their table, and see them
arguing in front of the window.
The woman locks her eyes with me for a moment--
I was staring. She starts the car. I get back to work.
May 2005
I slide the menus on the table and nearly spill the water.
"Yes--I'd like a margarita, please, on the rocks."
Someone looks like she needs a drink.
"Alright, and you, sir?"
Darts fly. "Just give me a minute."
The blender whirrs, muffling their crossfire.
The limes are past their prime, but they won't notice.
"Here you go, ma'am. Have you decided, sir?"
"I'll just have a margarita. I don't think
we're going to order anything else."
"No," she says, "we'll just have drinks."
"Another round?"
His brow furrows.
"No, we'll take the check."
She shoves the ten dollar bill at me.
He fretfully pats for his wallet. "Come on--"
"No, don't--"
He huffs with exaggeration.
I take the money from
her shaking hand.
I bus their table, and see them
arguing in front of the window.
The woman locks her eyes with me for a moment--
I was staring. She starts the car. I get back to work.
May 2005
red wine
I.
They served white wine
with the tuna loaf.
I told them,
"I prefer red wine."
II.
I fell in love when I was
hung over from
shitty red wine--
the kind in the box.
III.
She likes to sit
erectilely, she says. You know,
straight back and all. Good posture
shows class, and red wine.
May 2005
They served white wine
with the tuna loaf.
I told them,
"I prefer red wine."
II.
I fell in love when I was
hung over from
shitty red wine--
the kind in the box.
III.
She likes to sit
erectilely, she says. You know,
straight back and all. Good posture
shows class, and red wine.
May 2005
Viking State Bank
bad bank news
a dark cloud settles
over my furrowed brow
thinkmoneyworry
if thirty is the new twenty
no wonder i feel old
responsibility
haunts my closet
absent skeleton
in the hole like
my bank account
and these bastards
at Viking State.
badcreditstinkingstomach
"We are here to help," says the brochure.
"Maybe you own your own car?" Right.
"Privileged Status," says the brochure.
Do young hands hold
dirty dollars?
Does age warrant respect
like an automatic teller spits cash?
"I'm sorry, you just don't have
any real collateral."
I scorn your
professional attitude,
your smug perma-smile.
"Must be nice to have
bankers' hours, huh?"
May 2005
a dark cloud settles
over my furrowed brow
thinkmoneyworry
if thirty is the new twenty
no wonder i feel old
responsibility
haunts my closet
absent skeleton
in the hole like
my bank account
and these bastards
at Viking State.
badcreditstinkingstomach
"We are here to help," says the brochure.
"Maybe you own your own car?" Right.
"Privileged Status," says the brochure.
Do young hands hold
dirty dollars?
Does age warrant respect
like an automatic teller spits cash?
"I'm sorry, you just don't have
any real collateral."
I scorn your
professional attitude,
your smug perma-smile.
"Must be nice to have
bankers' hours, huh?"
May 2005
KWLC: audio interface
(r)EJECT: I label myself.
(another Friday night underground)
Down in the station, alone, I am in control.
I am a rosy child clawing through the
moist soil in search of her very own roots.
Alone and dirty under (the) ground,
I glance at the clock, an old LP,
while recording the readouts--
liquid crystal display.
transmittor: ON
communication? life signs?
positive, though weak in number.
The pen taps itself nervously
on the clipboard.
Who will interface w/ me?
do MY interfacing--
my power level dwindles
(two years of my life spent here)
sputters, and the signal fades.
Pin back those lucid bangs,
BARE my eyes:
self-discovery through vinyl.
Volume surges in the headphones--
1240 AM (gold):
gilded cherubs of sound.
May 2005
(another Friday night underground)
Down in the station, alone, I am in control.
I am a rosy child clawing through the
moist soil in search of her very own roots.
Alone and dirty under (the) ground,
I glance at the clock, an old LP,
while recording the readouts--
liquid crystal display.
transmittor: ON
communication? life signs?
positive, though weak in number.
The pen taps itself nervously
on the clipboard.
Who will interface w/ me?
do MY interfacing--
my power level dwindles
(two years of my life spent here)
sputters, and the signal fades.
Pin back those lucid bangs,
BARE my eyes:
self-discovery through vinyl.
Volume surges in the headphones--
1240 AM (gold):
gilded cherubs of sound.
May 2005
Highway 52
"It ain't cheep being cool"
blasts the red iron bull--
painted with small yellow chicks--
rumbling along my right;
we head south toward Iowa.
Does anything ever happen in Iowa?
I pass him on the left and wink.
His two-horned
smoke blows through
his two ears
like in the cartoons;
he hauls logs stacked
and bound together.
Salty hills roll by,
peppered with pitch cattle--
turn their heads,
chew their cud,
slow motion maple syrup.
Something happens
between the iron bull
and flat, Midwestern gusts--
my car quakes,
knuckles snowy
on the ice gray wheel.
The white sky
bleaks at me--
left to Goodwin,
right to Desdin.
I dance an empty foxtrot--
back, forth,
back, forth.
Stretch me across state lines--
the scene gets flat,
then flatter.
Blue command--
"Concentrate on Driving"
I'm in the space between
home and home--
May 2005
blasts the red iron bull--
painted with small yellow chicks--
rumbling along my right;
we head south toward Iowa.
Does anything ever happen in Iowa?
I pass him on the left and wink.
His two-horned
smoke blows through
his two ears
like in the cartoons;
he hauls logs stacked
and bound together.
Salty hills roll by,
peppered with pitch cattle--
turn their heads,
chew their cud,
slow motion maple syrup.
Something happens
between the iron bull
and flat, Midwestern gusts--
my car quakes,
knuckles snowy
on the ice gray wheel.
The white sky
bleaks at me--
left to Goodwin,
right to Desdin.
I dance an empty foxtrot--
back, forth,
back, forth.
Stretch me across state lines--
the scene gets flat,
then flatter.
Blue command--
"Concentrate on Driving"
I'm in the space between
home and home--
May 2005
lavender rain
lavender oil triumphs my stench
muggy springtime
rain flies diagonally
across the yellow beams of streetlamp
light crosshatches into a spectrum
like a sound wave glistening in
liquid crystal display:
schizophrenic signals
down to the shining street
raindrops weave back and forth
back and forth
groove needle
on a record
when it hits the sign
no parking
the rain,
it pings
May 2005
muggy springtime
rain flies diagonally
across the yellow beams of streetlamp
light crosshatches into a spectrum
like a sound wave glistening in
liquid crystal display:
schizophrenic signals
down to the shining street
raindrops weave back and forth
back and forth
groove needle
on a record
when it hits the sign
no parking
the rain,
it pings
May 2005
windblown
goosebumps pull my forearms
white frozen fingers
nipples hard ice diamonds
when the wind cuts through my blouse
and whips strands of hair into my mouth
I remember that I am still here
May 2005
white frozen fingers
nipples hard ice diamonds
when the wind cuts through my blouse
and whips strands of hair into my mouth
I remember that I am still here
May 2005
take note
a small cactus sits dead in his Navajo pot
blue with mold, just on the sill.
his base is brown yet he shoots his spikes
not letting on that he is terminal.
he shivers, dwindles and shrinks--neglected.
still he shields himself, vehement as ever,
a defensive cloak to all who approach.
look, my heart, at the act--
wrap yourself up tight in that thick prickly skin
alone in that stout stucco--a fool's masquerade.
I'll light a votive, and hope, but
I won't hold my breath, I won't even pray.
Take note, my heart
at his dangerous veneer--
proud but no good,
a dry guise.
May 2005
blue with mold, just on the sill.
his base is brown yet he shoots his spikes
not letting on that he is terminal.
he shivers, dwindles and shrinks--neglected.
still he shields himself, vehement as ever,
a defensive cloak to all who approach.
look, my heart, at the act--
wrap yourself up tight in that thick prickly skin
alone in that stout stucco--a fool's masquerade.
I'll light a votive, and hope, but
I won't hold my breath, I won't even pray.
Take note, my heart
at his dangerous veneer--
proud but no good,
a dry guise.
May 2005
Playa de la Venus
Subtly crashing waves
race eastward,
pushing up against the sand.
Perfect half moon smiles down,
urging a grin to my own face.
I could sit here for hours, certainly,
if only to make up for lost time,
enveloped in stone--
cold and impersonal.
The water seems to know me,
communicates, unspoken.
Something more meaningful must exist
than the buildings made by men.
January 2005
race eastward,
pushing up against the sand.
Perfect half moon smiles down,
urging a grin to my own face.
I could sit here for hours, certainly,
if only to make up for lost time,
enveloped in stone--
cold and impersonal.
The water seems to know me,
communicates, unspoken.
Something more meaningful must exist
than the buildings made by men.
January 2005
Porto Vell
All the ships sleeping--
what peace.
The pillow of
blue, celestial for the moon.
Lights of the port reflect
in water like eyes, looking.
I realized today that
I cannot live away from the water
ever again!
From the train
I saw the coast,
bluer than ever
in the sun, happy.
My heart rose--
I laughed, with myself!
Porto Vell--
tiny and full of lights,
ships with eyes looking to the water.
Water is the protagonist--
the hero.
January 2005
what peace.
The pillow of
blue, celestial for the moon.
Lights of the port reflect
in water like eyes, looking.
I realized today that
I cannot live away from the water
ever again!
From the train
I saw the coast,
bluer than ever
in the sun, happy.
My heart rose--
I laughed, with myself!
Porto Vell--
tiny and full of lights,
ships with eyes looking to the water.
Water is the protagonist--
the hero.
January 2005
Howard Roark
I do these things for myself,
and no one else.
The smoke and steam rise together,
dance into my right hand.
Words are my boulders of granite,
my journal a stone quarry.
The stork perches on its nest
atop the Catolica belltower.
The sun warms my fingers
around the plastic coffee.
The bells sound the hour
as I leave my own perch.
January 2005
and no one else.
The smoke and steam rise together,
dance into my right hand.
Words are my boulders of granite,
my journal a stone quarry.
The stork perches on its nest
atop the Catolica belltower.
The sun warms my fingers
around the plastic coffee.
The bells sound the hour
as I leave my own perch.
January 2005
Stability
Clouds look stable against the blue
behind the moving billboard,
roadside attraction of leafless branches.
I sit next to my brother in the backseat,
day after Christmas.
What sort of stability am I seeking,
such a jet setter
jetting as the sun is setting
along the horizontal sky?
Passing Cataract Elementary
on the right,
this black hole in my chest
devours itself
hungry and hot
from Prednizone.
Faces swim,
obsessed.
Distance is this cleaving in my chest,
this watering in my jaw,
this dry air at the back of my throat--
and this absence of a photograph
in my hand.
January 2005
behind the moving billboard,
roadside attraction of leafless branches.
I sit next to my brother in the backseat,
day after Christmas.
What sort of stability am I seeking,
such a jet setter
jetting as the sun is setting
along the horizontal sky?
Passing Cataract Elementary
on the right,
this black hole in my chest
devours itself
hungry and hot
from Prednizone.
Faces swim,
obsessed.
Distance is this cleaving in my chest,
this watering in my jaw,
this dry air at the back of my throat--
and this absence of a photograph
in my hand.
January 2005
cummings
smooth arms. smooth hands.
shoulders knees touch kiss bump
shift shape to opposite
sideso
fthe couch.
mop: bla
ckhair in clumps around eyes
eyebrows bushy brown bearings
i'my
ours.
arms on rib
cage
grip tight fingers: wr
ap wround
softstomachbelly. letus
sleepsleepsleep
eyesshut. heavy sunko
n pillowsleep--together.
January 2005
shoulders knees touch kiss bump
shift shape to opposite
sideso
fthe couch.
mop: bla
ckhair in clumps around eyes
eyebrows bushy brown bearings
i'my
ours.
arms on rib
cage
grip tight fingers: wr
ap wround
softstomachbelly. letus
sleepsleepsleep
eyesshut. heavy sunko
n pillowsleep--together.
January 2005
Plath
Apprehensions in the morning
Cold bites, slip set collar
And duck my head down.
When do I sleep?
Circles dark
Eyes sag
Plum purple
Remember the mystic? Memory
Does the cobblestone know
My footsteps? My boot heels?
A gigolo
Gives me aphrodisiac eggs
He smiles sex
I lose my courage and
Shut up
Who will hold my tongue?
January 2005
Cold bites, slip set collar
And duck my head down.
When do I sleep?
Circles dark
Eyes sag
Plum purple
Remember the mystic? Memory
Does the cobblestone know
My footsteps? My boot heels?
A gigolo
Gives me aphrodisiac eggs
He smiles sex
I lose my courage and
Shut up
Who will hold my tongue?
January 2005
Revolutionary
Ruminating upon the past,
all domestic pleasures are absorbed in,
as it were, a secondary god,
to preserve one of the
fingers of a mortified hand.
I silence every murmur
and the friend of my heart.
I have not felt in a humor,
I had taken up my pen.
The eyes of our rulers have been closed.
Whilst the building is in flames,
very little has been done
to secure the harbor.
January 2005
found poem
Letter from Abigail Adams to John Adams, 1776.
all domestic pleasures are absorbed in,
as it were, a secondary god,
to preserve one of the
fingers of a mortified hand.
I silence every murmur
and the friend of my heart.
I have not felt in a humor,
I had taken up my pen.
The eyes of our rulers have been closed.
Whilst the building is in flames,
very little has been done
to secure the harbor.
January 2005
found poem
Letter from Abigail Adams to John Adams, 1776.
Gulf of Disparity
Bay of Resentment
Elephant Country
Point Elusive
Cote du Privilege
Cape Avarice
Unilateral Shallows
Dim Harbor
The Isthmus of Indifference
Gulf of Disparity
January 2005
found poem
"P.S.", Mother Jones, Jan/Feb 2005
Elephant Country
Point Elusive
Cote du Privilege
Cape Avarice
Unilateral Shallows
Dim Harbor
The Isthmus of Indifference
Gulf of Disparity
January 2005
found poem
"P.S.", Mother Jones, Jan/Feb 2005
butter river
butter skin
butter hands
smooth as water
in waves
onto the rough
sandy shore
butter arms
butter legs
wide like
Mississippi
hot river
messy river
sassy river
flowing river
come in
the water is
fine
January 2005
butter hands
smooth as water
in waves
onto the rough
sandy shore
butter arms
butter legs
wide like
Mississippi
hot river
messy river
sassy river
flowing river
come in
the water is
fine
January 2005
six words
she shivers; the wind cuts through her filmy scarf, a straight edge
she complains, but snubs the hand-knit wood, given as a gift
she accepted it with a squeal, and smiled, a mouth full of sugar
she flipped her hair, hung it up in her closet
she resented her sister for knitting her an ugly scarf
she takes short, cautious steps on the slick sidewalk
she fears that she may appear clumsy
she imagines, sometimes, that her life is a movie
she is always the star, never supporting
she likes to sing the soundtrack to her friends
she laughs, shows how clever she is
she doesn't see the danger in this
she finally walks into Espresso 22, with her sugar smile and ice eyes
she asks me to spot her money for a latte, and any quarters for the meter
as we hug, i want to say no
January 2005
she complains, but snubs the hand-knit wood, given as a gift
she accepted it with a squeal, and smiled, a mouth full of sugar
she flipped her hair, hung it up in her closet
she resented her sister for knitting her an ugly scarf
she takes short, cautious steps on the slick sidewalk
she fears that she may appear clumsy
she imagines, sometimes, that her life is a movie
she is always the star, never supporting
she likes to sing the soundtrack to her friends
she laughs, shows how clever she is
she doesn't see the danger in this
she finally walks into Espresso 22, with her sugar smile and ice eyes
she asks me to spot her money for a latte, and any quarters for the meter
as we hug, i want to say no
January 2005
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