Before she wants to leave, life goes.
She dies a shrinking death.
Alone, asleep, no one comes close.
A tube gives her last breath.
One more walk, more vitamins, more pain
and she’d be here still— alive.
But every healthy act in vain.
Her wish: do not revive.
A quiet explosion scorched her cells.
Dividing tumor, too fast.
Her lips like broken shells
and face a sunken mask.
Hair gone and shivering in the sun
her skin as smooth as stone
she said, “Though chemo was fun,
I’m ready to be gone.”
Her lover on a plastic chair,
his hand strokes paper skin.
He’d fight to death if he could scare
the tumor from within.
One more walk, more vitamins, more pain
and she’d be here still— alive.…
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Consider the embryo.
—no limbs at first, oval,
translucent, watery comma
—not a sapling stick,
more, its rain-soaked seed.
You said they were all boys,
—-those minuscule dead possibilities
swirling in a dark dysfunctional womb.
—They had to be,
as females are stronger.
Not quite convinced,
—-I dreamed pink party dresses,
tutus, first solo rides
—–on two wheels, giddy swimmers
adoring the ocean, sun, sand.
—I saw castle upon castle.
The first “birthed” in the john.
—-We looked for something with which
to fish it (him?) out – hospital’s orders.
Human, they said, and stuck me in a hallway
—-to bleed alone for half a day.
The second time, my mother visited,
—–but was uncomfortable with such despair,
———could not gather herself
fully into a chair.…
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There is a profound depth to you,
your irises ebb out towards me,
from above those arrow head cheekbones,
sublime in their listlessness,
infinitely vast and achingly familiar.
Swaddling my head,
like smoke levitating against the ceiling, is your voice.
A voice like bourbon,
encompassing my ear drums.
Obliviously I gravitate towards you,
only to be disarmed and overwhelmed
by the visceral reaction I have to you,
and the fragility of our connection,
the absolute complementary juxtaposition we constantly demonstrate is aweinducing.
Formally I know nothing of you,
but I know your soul so well,
for it is a fragment of my own,
splintered from the the continuum of consciousness,
a relic from a past life that I am certain that we shared.
– Kate Healey…
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Thought over it
as rain piled on…
the roof, the windows, everything…
considered pure refusal,
the remnants of my energy,
as rain reached out,
tormented my reverberating psyche…
there was repent the carnal alley ways
or bathe more often,
or stop lapping up snow-melt with my tongue,
or give the tanned young man in my head
the tattered family Bible,
that he might someday spray his altars
with fine jasmine or unadulterated piss –
but then I figured coldness
was my only mercy,
black clouds that swamp my head
bursting, going with the rain…
fact is, I cannot
though I have,
I must not,
though I should…
through mud, through scrubby hills,
through the door of friends
and out the door of strangers…
no more feeling that isn’t
fingers on my chin,
no looking further than the walls
of the room I’m in…
damn rain, I’m staring through the window pane,
it’s all reflection with runny eyes and nose,
surprised to meet a man of my shrunken dimension
I vow to never think of her,
to shoot first, speak less,
take money where I find it,
and soon enough the rain will stop,
sky clear, maybe even warm up a little just
enough so I need not vow again…
spend my last years
blistered on the beach
– John Grey…
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The body cannot forget.
Shoulders slump to protect.
What’s left to regret?
Rolls of flesh beset
her bones. Armor to deflect.
The body cannot forget.
The toxins leach in sweat.
Pills leave lips spit-flecked.
What’s left to regret?
Each touch tallies against a debt.
Her skin numbs with neglect.
The body cannot forget.
Fingers stick to a cigarette,
yellow chemical and man intersect.
What’s left to regret?
To medicate hides the threat
of the memory a body can collect.
The body cannot forget
what’s left to regret
– Cara Schiff…
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Our Father Who Art in Heaven,
stay there
with your retinue of
saccharine angels and saints,
orchestrating
the celestial fanfare,
while we remain below,
content to breathe
the pine-filled air,
to feel the wind caress
the napes of our necks,
to see the sun
illuminate the hills
as if every morning
were the first time,
to sense the ground
beneath our feet
and not above our heads,
sealing us off
in darkness and silence
from everything we love.
We tally up our losses
and our gains
to find that overall
it’s not half-bad
to be alive.
Amen
– Arthur Heifetz…
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The minister was over for dinner
Our precocious five-year-old son
thin blonde hair flying off his head
leaned over the table with an intent expression
and asked the Reverend
Do you know that there are over a hundred-thousand Gods?
…and some of them have elephant heads?
I wondered:
How did he come up with this shit?
A powerful imagination he had
I couldn’t see it as a good thing
especially after what happened next
The Reverend
caught by surprise
inhaled a piece of brisket
He choked
choked to death actually
neither me nor my wife knowing
that maneuver when someone chokes
My wife ran out the front door
her grey and blue plaid dress flying behind her
but by the time someone got there
–the veterinarian
who’d been seeing to one of the neighbor’s calves–
it was too late
The Reverend lay on the floor
his face blue as an elephant-headed God’s
My son learned that there is information that should
not be shared
secrets that need keeping
My son learned that elephant-headed Gods don’t want
Baptist preachers to know about them
They wanted their elephant-headed secrets kept close
– Mitchell Grabois
…
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