everybody took ballroom dancing lessons
or learned to play the accordion
they kissed under lampposts on street corners
had midnight burgers and milkshakes
there was a Crystal Palace in most towns
the bands would fill it when they played there
somehow all the fedoras stayed on in the wind
and you could still be a sex symbol
even if you played the clarinet
I wouldn’t go back there permanently
but I sure would like to take a trip there with you
see if we can spot our grandparents dancing
then dance beside them, silently, knowing
on which we carry
the weight of the world
one son calls but the other
won’t come to the phone
who can blame him
what keeps my shoulders
from collapsing under the strain
is that life is long & love is powerful
someday I trust he’ll understand
the truth of life & love & loss
how even during these years
he was always my son
16 June 2013
Auburn AL
/ / /
I’m writing a poem a day in 2013. During June, each day’s poem will be inspired by a photo of writer Arielle Brousse doing yoga. I’ve been a fan of her writing for years. Arielle writes the Unforgettable Detritus blog and curates The Sensible Nonsense Project, a collection of writing about people’s favorite childhood books. Thank you to Arielle for allowing me to use the photos, and for all the entertaining and inspiring writing she’s done over the years.
I turned seven in 1980
and if someone had told me
but of course no one could have
I realize now they were much too busy
trying to grab hold of their own whirling chaos
in 1980, for example, my mom turned 30
nine years younger than I am right now
twice married once divorced
with a baby and a small boy
it took years for me to understand
there would never be a moment of closure
a moment when it would all become clear when
every sin every error every slight would
be absolved in a rush of salty tears
rather we would just go on
until we stopped
which we have
dead
children are sweet like feathers
children are fiery like the sun
children run when others walk
children walk when others run
children are strong like water
children are fast like hours
children love to jump in puddles
children hate to get in showers
children are fickle like the breeze
children are curious like a cat
my children make me very happy
and that, my friend, is that
10 March 2013
State College, PA
/ / /
The title and first line of this poem were provided by my son John, who turns 7 tomorrow.
so much has happened here
we were a couple miles from this corner
when I asked her if she would be my wife
a few miles farther away is the spot
where her father’s heartburn turned out to be
something else entirely
I spent months eating Cheez-its, watching
In Living Color, nearly immobile
in the spare bedroom of a house nearby
not realizing the truth about the wiring
of my brain, or other truths
years later, she was in the same room when it ended
today I was ignored by someone who was my friend
or at least part of the same “married into it” team
and the brother-in-law who was her sole
family representative at our wedding
could barely bring himself to look at me
I wonder if it was worth it…
until they pile onto me on the couch
all arms and legs and energy and boyish laughter
that’s all
the distance closed
by an airport all-nighter
a bus ride, a walk
a short car trip
two plane flights
the little one, mouth full
of new teeth
sits on my lap watching cartoons
his big brother
home sick today
plays video games
I’m trying to finish these lines
before I fall asleep
one arm around a boy
you said “give me that rock and roll sound”
(we were in the local music store’s guitar room)
I reached for the bank of pedals and looked around
then kicked on the distortion: with a massive boom
you strummed a chord that sounded like the Lost One
like you’d found a magical fingering in some ancient tomb
your eyes lit up and I knew you were my son
nothing’s as much fun as the stage
I watched, delighted, as your fingers did their run
the notes soaring skyward like hawks flying from a cage
beautiful and perfect and everything a dad could want
like the little boy who can’t be captured on this page
I’m all the way down here in Alabama
a thousand miles south of picking you up
from school or from skiing or from the Y
I wait like a kid at Christmas for Skype
to bring the fleeting gift of your faces
it’s been two and a half years
since I stood on Glendale Ave
watching the Subaru drive away
that weekend I went to New York City
stopping along the Housatonic River
to stand on a series of small boulders
and pluck a large flat rock from the water
I was on my way to visit my own parents
I no longer speak to them, just like I don’t
speak to my biological father, who left
when I was four, the same age you were,
John, when we left one another
you and Bernie and your mother and I
we never had a plan to get back together
just a vague promise that we would
but I decided I needed to make a change
to try to find a way to be happy again
and that meant striking out
on my own for a while, to search
I’ve found something down here
I can’t say what yet, boys
but I’m figuring it out, day by day
before too long I’ll be standing
on solid ground again, and when I am
I’ll be back, I’ll be back, I’ll be back
My grandma had a sideways nose.
I’ve got a sideways nose, too.
My grandma was often difficult.
I think she was very unhappy.
I am often difficult and unhappy.
My grandma was an old-school
Catholic who never went to church.
I once wanted to be a priest, but now
I don’t go to church either.
My grandma didn’t like Chinese food.
There I’m afraid we have to disagree.
My grandma stood by the people
she loved, no matter what.
When I decided, after 30 years,
to find my father, my grandma
was my strongest supporter.
(I suspect she had something
to do with his disappearance.)
Near the end of her life,
my grandma lost just enough
of her memory to become much nicer.
Visiting her in those days was a joy.
All the love she’d always shown,
with none of the darkness
to weigh it down.
My grandma had a sideways nose.
I’ve got a sideways nose, too.
9 January 2013
Auburn AL
/ / /
My grandma, Dorothy Marie Coughlin Flanders, would have been 98 today. I miss her. A lot.
Sitting at a stoplight.
It’s November, but also Alabama,
so my window is down.
I notice I have my elbow
partway out the window,
the backs of my left index
& middle fingers resting
against my lips.
This is the same gesture
my father makes
in this situation.
Like him, I also drum
on the steering wheel
and whistle along to the radio.
Although he’s a better whistler.
Good enough to have gone pro,
I always thought.
Someone once said it’s funny
to open your mouth and hear
your father’s voice come out.
I live alone now, and have
fewer opportunities
to impersonate him.
But at this stoplight,
with “Layla” on the radio,
I am, briefly, my father.
She leans down to set the turkey
on the table.
Everyone looks up with reverence.
She’s been in the kitchen all day.
The room is awash in autumn browns
and reds; the colors so strong
you can almost smell them. Deep magenta
cranberry sauce — the real thing,
Not the jellied kind.
Creamy white mashed potatoes,
First plunge of the spoon.
A crock of earth-brown gravy and the smile
on Grandpa’s face. He never
Has to take seconds, because everyone
passes him their leftover turkey leg
or slice of pie.
This table holds four generations —
some who remember when a dinner
like this cost two weeks’ wages, and
the turkey was fresh-killed that
morning in the steaming barn of a
farm on the edge of town.
The littlest among them are amazed to
see so much fresh food. They don’t
understand why the meal takes
so many hours to make, and they’re tired
and a little cranky by the time fork
tings against knife.
If they’re lucky, they’ll remember enough
of this embrace of family and food to
repaint this picture for their
own children. They’ll try to explain
how Grandma’s kitchen smelled,
and they’ll be more than a little saddened
by the haze that has obscured memory.
Now, as she sets the turkey at the
head of the table, ready for his
sure hands on the carving knife,
the future is an unclouded line of
possibilities, and every year will
follow this one – warm, autumnal.
(July 22, 2012) LOTS OF SMALL TOWNS IN PA — The “Jazz Or Bust” Tour is on hiatus for a few weeks while I spend time with my sons in central Pennsylvania.
These first few days have been all about baseball. My older son, Bernie, plays on a tournament team, which means each weekend he plays a ridiculous amount of baseball in some tiny spot in the Pennsylvania hills. This weekend it was Mountain Top, PA. Here are some photos from the past couple days:
With my younger son, John
Bernie, in his State Grey uniform
Bernie takes a swing during one of the FIVE games his team played in two days.
We had to drink a lot of hot chocolate on Saturday because it was cold. In July.
In the final inning, Bernie got to pitch, which is not his usual position. The look of delight on his face when his coach called him in from right field was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. My phone was dead by then, but his teammate’s mom was kind enough to take some photos:
It wasn’t all baseball, of course. There was also bowling:
And here are a few interesting signs I saw in (from left): the camp my kids go to, the port-a-potty at the ballfield, and a truck stop. The latter I photographed purely for the town names. Click on a thumbnail to see the full-size photo.
A few more photos I like:
Downtown Bellefonte, PA, the town where I’m staying until the end of July.
the phone just isn’t enough
too many frequencies are lost
between the vocal chords
and the inner ear
cast by satellites and towers
into the atmosphere or outer space
bloodless plastic against the ear
is no substitute for a small warm palm
wrapped up in my fingers
or a kamikaze jump with a feral yell
from the couch onto my back
living in the magical future
it’s easy to think that a computer screen
and a tiny camera are the same as contact
but we’re not on different planets
just in different states
and the bus ride gets longer each time
6 April 2012
Brooklyn NY
/ / /
It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April. I debated posting this one because of the content, but it’s where I’m at today.
