Poetry
I discovered that I loved to write poetry during a weekend catechism class in 4th grade. After that my mom gave me a book of classic poems to read and it kicked open a door to my mind. It’s a skill that I’ve used most often to write song lyrics, but it was my first form of creative expression.
These first three poems won me the Charles M. Hart award in 2000. I was 19 when I wrote them.
The Looking Glass
Bread. I made break today.
I put on my mother’s stained apron,
Wrapped it around me like I used to wrap around her.
Gosh, I haven’t been here in years,
But that old sycamore is still standing
And my sandbox is nearby,
A rusted rake is lying next to it.
For a while this morning
I leaned against the broken bark of the sycamore,
Like I used to,
And I looked out at the ocean.
How I loved the ocean when I was younger,
And the sailors that wavered into town,
Their rough fingers scarred from labor,
Holding a bottle with both hands, nervous,
Wearing tight brown hats pulled
Down to their brow.
They would sit, usually, resting their tired bodies,
Tapping their unlaced boots slowly upon the ground.
Once I sat under the sycamore
And drank from a bottle with one of them,
I don’t know what, but it made me laugh.
He told me I was beautiful and
I threw my arms over his shoulders and kissed him
Until the sun came up.
I laughed to myself and walked inside,
My children were wide awake
And they ran out to play in the sandbox,
My husband put on a record and we danced
Over the blue and green carpet.
And sitting in the sand,
Looking through the looking glass,
They smiled at the ship wavering over the water
In the distance.
Dog Show
Leashes are strings
And they fly us like kites
Yesterday, no, the day before that
They brought in a bitch
Tomorrow, maybe today, they’re going to make me stiff
And their lips will stimulate smiles
But for now
It’s that girl being handed cotton candy
She’s shoving the pretty pink fluff down her throat
Her hands small and sticky
There’s a tall man (who wishes he were taller)
Holding a big mallet
He pulls back, his muscles ripple
And down, the tip fiercely attacks the target
Rising up the pole, the bell tolls at the top
A man in a stained cowboy hat props his boy
Onto the fence in front of me
The man reaches out to rub my ears
Or maybe have me lick his hands
His knuckles are dark and hairy
…Over to the horses, and I’m laughing
Because they’re pulled out, or pushed in, just like me
And I see
Across the way are three youthful girls
Sweating through their white tank tops
The sweltering sun pouring down
For a dollar they can play
And maybe win that massive brown bear
To have something to
Cuddle
With on those lonely nights
Each one is given a handful of balls
And in turn, they stretch as far as they can
Trying to drop the balls into the bottles
None get the balls to go in
The man working shakes his head and
Rubs his whiskers as they walk away
They don’t know how to do it right
I have to back up again
Because the guy with the shaved head is back
This time with his girlfriend
I was a witness, but I’m softer than they are
He is behind her
His hands think into her small blue pockets
As his voice wanders
She is listening to her reflection in the shed
Maybe he’d like my hair shorter
…And I cough about last night
When he was howling with another one
Her lips tight around the whiskey bottle
His body needing to unlimp itself
A baby blue blanket covering the straw
His thirsty buzzing searching to pollinate
His barking had stopped
Her laboring shrieked shut
The bottle emptied out
I looked at the straw matted down
Like greasy hair slept on awkwardly
A buried wristwatch showed parts of the moon
My leash tightens and I’m put in the next room
She looks just like me
And they can’t hide their excitement.
Here and There are Not Here
While walking through the woods
I wonder upon a robin,
Its beak bent open, colors bright orange faded
Into brown, its neck twisted around.
I kneel nearby, clearing away the twigs and stones at its side,
The feathers on its back, chestnut brown,
Like the fallen tree leaves caressing the ground,
And slowly the sun sinks below the trees,
Leaving a small ring of light
For the robin and I to bask in,
Suddenly, its eyes flap open
A thread is pulled inside my head
And dark visions of empty wine glasses
Appear turned upside down
In an intersection of contradiction,
My friends are free and begin the Dance,
The rocks are breathing and naked white bodies
Are sweating black rain, inside the sun are emeralds and rubies
A woman comes to me, her eyes honey green,
Like frogs of the rain forest jumping above the trees,
Purple bells swing from the branches
Golden leopards are running the trunks, unavoidable desire,
My teeth possess a reality, reasonable, and malleable,
A pool veiled in erotic brightness is smeared in the moon,
Mesmerizing
And reviving my breath.
Here and there are not here.
And, with my friends, riding on luminated bicycles,
The sky drops honeycombs onto our powdered umbrellas
The naked bodies, like violins, are floating and flying,
Flames buzzing and singing hypnotically,
Oysters are mirrors of pleasure.
A solstice of starlight kisses my skin,
Yellow flowers are growing
Out of the vulva of each woman,
Cloud circles drop a waterfall of seeds below
As fallen fruit ripens the earth.