Day 11

Pedi-ness

The awkward tomboy within me
hides in the balls of my feet.
Itching, rising up my leg
begging for a scratch.
"Oh, say something, please,
don't be so polite!"
It's because I am once
again trampled by a
little girl with
petty, perfect, pink
nails, and I had forgotten
to "pedi" at all.

Day 10

Dear, Run.

Arrows in your
belly and ribs
and rear
you were once
wounded, dear.
Limping,
Heartsick,
Struggling to
catch up
green from
my successes.
But I have never
been
hidden, easy,
in the shade.
Little did
you know I was still
clad in bloodied skins.
I was running,
still running,
still running,
still running,
from you.
Why do you chase me still?
Or are you trying to outrun
me once again?


based on Pocahontas, by Annie Leibovitz

Day 9

The Eternal Critic

The light verses dark
and the smudged
and softened brush strokes
suggests to me it is, as always,
religious propaganda
of some sort.
Whether it is the nihilistic
take on the defeat of the
uncovered soul,
when subjected
to black magic.
(Very Faustian.)
Or, it could be a
nod to the alienation
effect.
This poor man
shielded himself,
but from what?
The naked
top of his head,
the abomination,
is sheltered with
a death shroud.
But, please, sir
Look above you
at the enigmatic
circular, chatoyant,
natation.
Or that hypnotic dance of heaven,
will be lost on every
untrained eye.
Just as it is unseen to
the foolish man who
only looks to his feet.



based on Flight of the Witches, by Francisco de Goya

Day 8

The Opera

The eyes of the
firing-squad
are aimed with
lashed
cross-hairs
for now we, the chorus,
all look like oiled up
black ducks in a row
awaiting the diva's
shrill descent in
her purple and pink
sequent gown.
Like a splash
into our waters
We catch it
assuming it would have
fallen, however, lofty
and long-winged.

The audience,
looking up from
their watches
now look
into our glassy
faces with surprise.
Eyes-rolling
back and then
rolling around
trying to make
sense of
gorgeous
simultaneous
voices.
Because
we are only the
chorus
we know they
are wondering what
100 somewhat
attractive people
are doing center stage
and not behind
the coke machine.

The basses drone on
and you can barely hear the
tenors, so the altos carry
all of the low tones
on their buxom
backs.
But the first sopranos
with delicate fingertipped
touches
give life
to sullen
depressed
sleep that
almost took them over.
And so now we catch
older women turning green
and
the older men
looking at us as if
we are younger
versions of their wives.

Day 7

Good morning

Because my eyes widened
in the middle of daylight
I must say good morning
to the indentation on your pillow.


Feminine

shorter hair
and shorter glare
and shorter
yet sharper nails
out. My shins
have splinted
from
stomping my feet.
But with the first
spring breeze
I remember my
weakened knees
and I desire
to once again
be delicate
and feminine.

Day 6

Unsolicited.

Little face,
oh little face,
once again.

We did not lean
in close enough
to see the wrinkles
and gray hairs,
so little face,
we condescend.

Little face,
oh little face,
the tighter
we hold you
in our hands.



We pull back the skin
and tighten your grin
and you are subject
to our demands.


Little face, oh
little face,
we do not know your
plans.

And little face,
oh little face,
we accidentally
turned over
how the hourglass stands.

So cut your hair
and dress up
proper, there will
be then nothing to
stop her.
And make
sure to emphasize
those cans.


And little face,
oh little face,
endure.
Because
no matter what
you procure
your lot
in life withstands.

Day 5

After dark.

for Joel

Heartily bolstered with pancakes
and the soft innards of oranges,
We were rolling around in ivory fields
of Egyptian cotton. Tossed about
in a quilted universe of a
holiday spent alone.
Radiophonics
and the whirling sounds of
melodramatic acting and
otherworldliness in the
background we are
sheltered by our own
singular dream of what
this world should be.
But eventually
we arise
and, after a late afternoon
shower,
allow reality back in.
We bicker but once
in the car, but cool it,
realizing
in the parking lot
that we had arrived
at one of our favorite
places. We stroll
easy, like adults
down that familiar
trail of gravel
leading to the
wooden planks
stretching out over
the river drag.
You listen for wildlife
and I see a goose.
I say to you God wants us to notice things
That's why he shows us a tree twice.
Once coming out of the ground
and once reflected on the water.
You say you want to glide
like a hawk, so your
arms never get tired.
You like the way that looks.
Then you look at me.
Something fills within us,
and we once again
leap through the
local park like children
Each going down the fireman pole.
And I remember
what a spectacular idea
it would be
to have a picnic
after dark.

Day 4

Delayed Response

You may write me a requiem.
You may sing me a song.
You may write me a poem.
You may send my parents flowers.
You may announce you always loved me.
You may sculpt a statue.
You may send my husband a card.
You may write my sister a letter.
But until you can see
the reality of you and me
Please,
Do not come to my funeral.



Partly Human

They were once the only human.
The person we knew and loved
is now broken bits of speech
and half-machinery.
Partly synthetic.
Fuzzy receptions.
They are partly edible
and have had morsels eaten from them.
Revealing the bite marks.
They have lost their totality
they have been stripped and peeled.
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They are different.
They are different.
They are different.
They are different.
Partly.
But we
press on, in love with the
undying retentions.
The pieces we identify with
the skin.
The teeth.
The bone.
And that reaction, why,
That is also
Partly Human.

Day 3

The Anchor
for Joel

When love embarks,
with its generating
propellers slicing through
the interminable oceans
of imperfection
that are, for a moment,
entirely perfect,
We greet them.
We are exquisitely aroused
and have effervescent eyes
that gorge themselves on
the way that fireball displays
vitalities on the water.
The propulsion of this
journey is inescapable,
irreversible
and the anchor swings with us
all the way inside of us.
And so we do.
And so the way that person is
when we first fall in love
is always inside of us.

Day 2

Reminder

"You do not seem to understand,"
they'd say
"That rivers are wide,
and are not so easily crossed,
we fear, they are not as they appear.
They are not just squiggly blue lines of ink
as you would have us think."
"But are there not bridges?"
I would ask.
-and it would be a reminder.

"You do not seem to understand,"
they'd say
"That bridges are man's most
hair-brained invention, and
we take for granted their
convention. They just
barely hold our weight,
and furthermore, do not
always set our paths
as straight."
"But are they not forged in steel?"
I would ask.
-and it would be a reminder

"You do not seem to understand,"
they'd say.
"Once you cross your bridges,
you set them aflame,
and you cannot recross them,
and we are not to blame."
"But are they not forged in steel?"
I would ask, a little kinder...
But there would be no reply,
and it would be a reminder.