Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Water

Your first bath —
a midwife cleans you up.
You don't have fun.
Then come
the sprinkles of holy water in church,
the tepid water of the nursery,
the ardor of rain water,
the predatoriness of ocean water,
the ice water after you make love,
swallow fire or juggle clubs.
You drink that water in one gulp.

Motes of dust stuck to furniture,
your eyes are red,
but the tears dried up.
Left here alone for weeks on end
with waterlogged images
to ponder in thick gray clouds,
you play hide-and-seek
with memories of the March sky
in patches of meat and mustard,
with a carpet of bold spring flowers,
with a blue outline of mountains.
The fated assault of the time,
dark shadows around the eyes,
the hair unwashed and tattered,
promises written in water
form a puddle of bitter tears.
Your life is water under the bridge.

The last bath.


© Helen Kanevsky, 2018

Bridge over the South Yuba River ~ Nevada City, California
Photo by Kelly M. Grow, Calif. Dept. of Water Resources
from Wikimedia Commons 

Monday, May 14, 2018

Song of the Wind and the Night

The wind and the night
The wind and the night and warped mirrors
The wind and the night
And abortion on the stairs
The wind and the night and hearts
That can no longer love
The wind and the night and nervous fingers

All we can say of desire and time
All we can say disinherits
And remembers

Song of rain
Song of false moons
Song of emptiness and terror
Song of the wind stirring lashes
Song of the wind and the night and dark lovers

All we can say of the sea and the sky
And stars that burn like thirst
All we can say of gardens and lost pleasures
All we can say distorts and destructs

Song of the wind and the night and lights
From lonely windows
Song of the wind slashing wrists
Song of stone and crumbling faces
Song of the wind and the night and hearts
That can no longer love


© Phillip Marlin, 2018

"Windy Night"
scratchboard by Reene
fromWikimedia Commons




Monday, May 7, 2018

How to Hide

for J.P.

Get out of bed and find the good
scissors. The red ones.
Go out to the porch.
Take down all of the wind-
chimes. Dismember them.
Go back inside. Open
the closets. Bring out
all the jackets and shoes.
Tie up every lace and string
until there are only perfect
bows. Put it all away
and pry open the pendulum
clock. Remove the weights.
They'll make good bookends. 
Go to the window. Let down
the blinds and then snip off 
the extra cord. Do this in every room.
Consider buying darker curtains,
not because you no longer love
light, but because you never know
what will cast a swinging shadow.

             Ellie White, 2018


(First published by Melancholy Hyperbole, 2014)
The Addams Family home
Photo by Karl Kuntz
Source: The Addams Family
Otterbein University Theater and Dance
from Wikimedia Commons


Tuesday, May 1, 2018

Momma Ain't Happy

Momma ain't happy,
ain't nobody happy ‘less momma happy,
and momma ain't happy ‘less her people happy.

That toddler won't stop fittin'.
That girl just feelin' bad all the time, the doctor don't know.
And that “I-ain’t-nothin’-special-ain’t-gonna-go-to-any-good- college-like-my-friends” teenager!

Good Lord,
that baby gotta grow up be ok don’t get its own way,
that girl gotta get off the sofa, get out and live in the big world;
that almost-man need to know know know 
that come college acceptance day, he is special, 
no matter what those letters say.
And this momma gotta sleep at 4 am, letting her "I-don't-know- I -can't-do" go, 
and her babies gonna be your babies, she your baby, and you gonna heal us all up.

God, I got some ideas on the potty training, 
put up your stuff after playing, 
no cussing saying; 
no guarantee, but I got some ideas.

But the miracle-working, 
self-controlling, body-healing, spirit-loving, 
I don't know know know.
So you gotta do do do for me and my people, 
cause God you know, 
ain't nobody happy less momma happy, 
and momma ain't happy ‘less her people, your people, happy. 

Heal us all up, God, 
heal us all up.


© Rie Harris, 2018

Allie Mae Burroughs
Photo by Walker Evans, 1936