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Category: Poem-A-Day 2013

POEM: we were burning

Published 10 January 2013 by Jason Crane

we were burning

in those days we skipped the folk songs
made speeches to the pounding drums
of Michael Franti & Spearhead
a righteous fire blazed in our guts
kept us warm through the lake effect winters
we were burning, we were burning, we were burning

we ran through the streets of Rochester
with the police hot on our heels
cops shouted our names through bullhorns
but careful hands passed us through the crowd
like children under the protection of the village
we slipped into an alleyway and were gone

a decade on, I sit at my desk eating a banana
listening to Spearhead in my button-down shirt
watching the plugged-in, tuned-out faces
cross the campus outside my window
I put my hand on my much more ample belly
to see whether I can still feel the flames

10 January 2013
Auburn, AL

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POEM: Sideways nose

Published 9 January 2013 by Jason Crane

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Sideways nose

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.

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POEM: our tanning booths like coffins, our cars like cages

Published 8 January 2013 by Jason Crane

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our tanning booths like coffins, our cars like cages

and yet we stay enclosed, paying to remain untouched
as if we hadn’t spent tens of thousands of years
walking together across grassy plains (strength in numbers)

nothing in the world can replace skin on skin
the breathing out of your breath to be breathed in by me

when asked to recite a poem, Muhammad Ali looked out
at the expectant crowd, swept his arm through the air
to gather them in, and said all that needed to be said:

“Me. We.”

8 January 2013
Auburn, AL

/ / /

“Our tanning booths like coffins” is a line taken from a Bill Hicks comedy routine.

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POEM: Vaccine

Published 7 January 2013 by Jason Crane

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Vaccine

In the college coffee shop this morning, a trivia question:
Which disease did Joan Salk create a vaccine to fight?
Dozens of faculty members answered the question.
None pointed out that it was Jonas, not Joan.
Or is it me who doesn’t know the whole truth?
Did Dr. Salk, years after developing a cure for polio,
decide he’d had enough of the charade and make the
change he’d secretly been longing to make all those years?
I picture Joan Salk sitting in her office, talking with
fellow researchers about her pioneering work. Those
who were young enough might not even have known
about her past, just accepted her as the brilliant woman
she so clearly was. Maybe after saving the world, she
felt it was time to save herself.

7 January 2013
Auburn, AL

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POEM: Like A Good Neighbor

Published 5 January 2013 by Jason Crane

From My new apartment

Like A Good Neighbor

So now I’ve become the neighbor
who enters through the back door
like a character in a sitcom, or
stands just outside the front door
to steal a wi-fi signal with my phone.
But at least I’m somebody’s neighbor,
which is a big step in the right direction.
As of today there are blinds on the
glass door in the living room, so all
my wild debauchery is hidden
from the casual observer.
You know, all the dancing
to Stevie Wonder and Talking Heads
and watching movies from the 80s
and sitting on my weird carpet couch
writing poetry in my notebook.
I’ve seen neither spider nor fly
in my parlor, and I’ve yet to sneak in
a cat, so for now I await the pet rock
I was promised by the artist next door
and I talk to my electric kettle.
In this world, that seems as normal
as anything else. You should come over.

5 January 2012
Auburn, AL

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POEM: that he finds delight

Published 4 January 2013 by Jason Crane

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that he finds delight

in what we would otherwise ignore
is a blessing that shouldn’t be
taken for granted

every hat is a laser hat, every shirt
a suit of magical armor
no finger sword can pierce

he sheds identities like snakeskin
one moment he’s a ninja, the next
a secret agent, then a superhero

lifted into the air by adult hands
he is flying (not being carried)
as if gravity has looked the other way

he reminds us there is beauty in
the here and now, in the world-as-it-is
if we’ll only stop for a moment to look

4 January 2013
Auburn AL

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POEM: letter to [ ]

Published 3 January 2013 by Jason Crane

letter to [ ]

I send you incomplete truths
little notes that don’t say
everything I’d like them to

there’s something about you
there has been ever since that first
spring day in New York City

since then I’ve been listening
inspired by the strong and selfless way
you move through the world

I think you’re one of the most
beautiful women I’ve ever seen
but there’s no way to say that

and no point in saying it anyway
not from all the way down here
where I didn’t even wear a coat today

3 January 2013
Auburn, AL

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