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| People were crying in the streets
mom's hand closing the blinds
slapping me light across the face
"I told you to keep it closed,"
she whispered; her eyes were like mine
when I saw the monster in the closet
I'd never seen mom afraid before
but it somehow made me strong
like chocolate makes me happy.
"Why is everyone sad, mommy?"
"They aren't ... sad," she said
and laughed, clown-like, not funny.
"They're hurting themselves!" I said
because I could hear the moaning
and screaming and all the loud shouting.
(Mom would have told us to be quiet,
sternly, by now; their moms must be
screaming to, or maybe not afraid)
"The Lord has returned," mom said,
and: "An actual Good Friday."
Her smile odd, crooked, sad. Funny.
"Mommy?" I said. I knew about Jesus
from Sunday School, and how he'd return,
but everyone sounded wonderfully afraid.
"We all hope He has rose-coloured glasses,"
mom said, nodding to the door outside.
"Your father says only the heathens will be spared."
"Where is daddy?" I said. "Is he okay?"
Mom just stared at the door, holding
my hand too tight, saying nothing.
"I guess this means no Easter Bunny?" I said.
"I liked chocolates," when mom looked at me.
And she laughed and laughed and laughed
And she hugged me, so tight, as if I'd break,
or she would, and she laughed again and
told me she loved me, so much, and didn't let go. | | |
| Live, O! life, to live! The only prayer
with meaning, measure, aye!
Exhortation, excretion, all of --
all of that, and less. Hunger
whispers, but never roars.
(driven, oh yes, but all things
are)
And before prayer, science
electric bargains, the electron
not anywhere, the energy
everywhere: live! Life! Lives!
Leashed fire, lightbulbs
burned into cheat: O!
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Recalled to life, so easy. Just that.
Pressure, will, science; the closing
of doors (a miracle)
And below all that, magic
the alchemist in the lab of life,
Frankenstein, his mother-monster-father-figure
But, O but! "To life!" in all cases
the only hunger desperate
enough to scream. | | |
| wishes are like fishes
found in oceans of dreaming
drowning on dry land | | |
| At the party we were talking
Not drunk but not sober
And I had this thought
So wonderful but no
I did not share it.
It was mine alone in
Epiphany and yet a crawl
On the 'net would uncover
Someone else who said it
Someone famous (yet
how are you famous if I
have never heard of you?)
Because it was me who had it
And it was mine, I never shared
Knowing only that
Someone had said it
Before, perhaps, and
Better than I could at the party. | | |
| Hunting through the darkness
Moving through the ash
There are things that never were
But nothing that never was
And there are no guarantees
As things come apart
And fall together, and I
I'm trying to tell you & me
To tell you everything I am
Everything that wasn't and
All the dream we've lost
I'm too busy trying to hate me.
The hunted is the hunter is
All I have is you, all I hold is
Ghosts stalking in shadows
And the memory of dreaming. | | |
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