Category: My poems

Poem #5 for the November Poem-A-Day challenge.

The Second Pig Was A Bad Carpenter

My mother bought my clothes until
I went to college. On my own, I still
avoided sex and held to old rules.
Out west I changed my hair, sharpened tools
began to build a stronger frame
on which to hang new hopes, a new name.
I have repainted this house so many
times I can’t recall which color, if any
lies at its heart, its core.
So I add another layer, then one more.

Poem #4 for the November Poem-A-Day challenge.

In The Box

The cat is dead.
The cat is alive.
Maybe.

Poem #3 for the November Poem-A-Day challenge.

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The “L” Word

Realtors(TM) say it three times,
emphasize its primacy.
But however verdant the sward,
when you move there, you take
you with you.

Poem #2 for the November Poem-A-Day challenge.

crushed

oops
there goes another

and it — snap —

the block crashes
cracking the floor

kicking up
dust

         question:

when it settles

will I emerge?

Poem #1 for the November Poem-A-Day challenge.

It means “cooked sushi roll”

maki yaki
(mine are raw, though)
terrible house music on the speakers
(but I’m wearing headphones to block it out)
the concrete block hangs above, suspended by a thread
(mom says not to worry, it won’t fall)
wasabi shoots through my sinuses
(stirs an already agitated brain)
my nerves are raw
(maki yaki)

tornado watch

the restaurant sign is lying
on its side on the sidewalk
we have no hatches to batten
in this city of weak wind
but the world is changing
and you don’t need a weatherman
to know the wind is stronger
I went backward on my bike today
with the wind like a wide-open palm
pushing again my chest

but you don’t answer

it’s the second song of the night
(the vibraphonist is playing a solo)
when I get that feeling in my stomach

the one you get as the roller coaster
goes over the top of the first hill
right before it picks up speed
but after it’s too late to get off

I can usually lose myself in music
but tonight I’m already lost

the quieter the band plays
the easier it is for me to hear the rush
of blood through my veins

this place is called the Whisper Room
because you can whisper on one side
and someone can hear you on the other

so I whisper your name

and wait

unlock your heart

no,
that’s not what I mean

don’t lock it
in the first place

or if you must, give me the key
I’ll keep it somewhere safe

maybe with the ring
my grandfather gave me

when you decide you’re ready
to come out from under the bed

I’ll give you back the key
trust me,

it will still fit
don’t let the squeaky hinges

throw you off
once the blood starts pumping normally

it’ll be just like new,
maybe better

single-digit hours

while saxophonists play the final set
bartenders announce last call
bleary new mothers quiet newborns with the breast
truckers chatter on radios to stay awake

I write in the moments before sleep
when desire overpowers caution
and what is true holds sway over what is real

I write at the threshold of “tonight” and “this morning”
realizing the new day without relinquishing the old
living in the in-between time, when all things are possible