Yes
(To listen, click here)
There would be no poetry without
the breath of yes you whispered
seemed to whisper, maybe not the
word itself, yes, yet you offered me
the sense of yesness hushhhhh
it’s o.k., it’s o.k., yes it is, yes, yes.
I could hear your heart a room
within a room my room I closed
my eyes surround me with the
sound of you the gentle pounding
just above me take your time
I’ll wait for you. I will be there, yes.
I could feel the silent softness
of your fingers on my eyelids on
the throbbing in my temples on
the butterfly you welcomed when I
placed it in your hand. I’ll take
care of it. I’ll take care of you in it.
Yes I will, yes. Yes
Safekeeping
(To listen, click here)
The box is in an attic somewhere,
maybe where I left it maybe not,
I left it with a friend I thought he’d
understand the box had things inside
I needed to protect (not much, just
everything) and hoping for a place
to keep the box was not a lot to ask .
Some furniture as well, the desk my
mother used when she pretended she
had business on the phone (she did, but
not the sort of business you’d expect),
my father sometimes sat there with his
ashtray and his morning paper from
Chicago taking notes and making calls.
I used it too, to do my homework
when it seemed to really matter even
though it didn’t, all the things that
really mattered added up to very little
but I kept them safe and put them in a
box and kept it with me till I couldn’t
anymore, and then I found a place.
My friend went on to more important
matters moving far away nearby and
when I asked about the box he had no
recollection whatsoever, didn’t know
there was a box, perhaps his sister or
his mother knew they didn’t it was all so
long ago and we’ve been very busy here.
I visited my friend one time the desk
was in his living room it looked like new.
Lies
(To listen, click here)
Old lies. A witch lives
under the basement stairs.
A whale lives in the river
behind the barber shop.
Ghosts live in the gabled house.
Nazis live on the corner.
The crayons are on my desk.
Mom and Rose are resting.
A little deeper you’ll reach
China. Billy Whalen is dead.
Dad has business in Topeka.
Two boys and a girl.
Boxing is a noble sport.
God is punishing you.
Fathers smoke pipes and wear
flannel shirts and slippers.
Middle lies I’ll meet you
at O’Hare. I’ll write before
I go. People will respect you.
He comes from a good family.
I know Hildegarde.
We are the joy girls of 46.
Just for the summer.
Join, you can be like me.
Michael and Gerald had a fight.
Mrs. Credan asked for you.
Excellent plus. I do.
Wisconsin Avenue. Attorney
at law. Politics is the highest
endeavor. Come for supper.
Sherman Boulevard. The lake.
The club. The Biltmore.
Newer lies. We like your work.
We seek no wider war.
I do not recall. I’ll be here.
Fetus. This game is important.
Like father like son. Anyone
can play. Fifty-Ninth Street.
Coming right up. Praise God.
Satan is promoting dissent. We
should care about the price of
diamonds. Cheers. Our readers.
Go for it, she said.
There is one really bad lie
happily ever after a very old
lie. It still works except
after is a relative term.
Asking
(To listen, click here)
I’m talking to my dad tomorrow, nothing
there that people don’t do all the time except
we’ve never talked before in any depth
we’ve kept it on the surface never dug we’ve
never opened doors they’re nailed shut.
In my dream last night my son walked in
I realized we’d never had a conversation
never traded funny stories here’s the oddest
part (I shuddered then, I shudder now) but I forgot
I even had that son, where was he all these years.
Just down the street (I never looked too hard)
but when I passed that house his bike was often
in the driveway (playing cards attached with
clothespins giving him a vivid fantasy of power he
didn’t have, he’d just pretend, he’s very good at that).
So when he comes tomorrow maybe we can talk
about the times he sat alone and didn’t have a
dad to talk to, just a Mr. Wagner sitting in for me
it’s not the same no matter what your mother tells
you she’s been very busy keeping things in place.
I’m talking to my dad tomorrow I’m not leaving
without answers where’s my bedroom where’s
my box of coloured pencils where’s my book on
Frank Lloyd Wright and where’s my desk my chair
my lamp my radio my scrapbook and my brother.
Dots
(To listen, click here)
From the black March sky the source
and the sorceress could be seen for
what they truly were puny pinpoints
near the void. Night as always offered
truth if one could keep herself
awake straining for the dots and
then connecting them. (Usually we
sleep and never learn.)
But there it was only minutes after
the apprentice to the sorceress
performed another magic trick
(isn’t he a showman) lighting up a
river with a thunderbolt enough to
make a moth say holy shit do that again
but no, we can’t disturb our onboard
movie I’ll get back to you.
Then all three of them were gone.
Their siren signals still go out but
there is safety in the dark. They can
buzz and I will not respond, returning
favors of the summer I became accustomed
to the way it was to be. The aroma from
their lakeside picnic cannot reach a
butterfly at thirty-seven thousand feet.
Church
(To listen, click here)
They’re dying fast the altar boys the boys
who beat their breasts in mea culpas stroked
in perfect unison at eight o’clock each morning
Mrs. Mullen at the organ everything was sad
let’s not forget there was a war but mostly
there was sin on everybody’s mind I'm sorry
you’re forgiven I don’t care about the reasons
just behave be like your brother like your mother
like the Little Flower like Saint Bernadette of
Lourdes just be a martyr be a virgin say a rosary
be here every single day to light the candles burn
the incense wash the pastor’s fingers fold the towel
perfectly turn out the lights they’re dying fast.
Ad deum qui laetificat juventutum meum.
Laetificat a daily lie my youth was really spent in
shame let’s let it go at that and every day I told
the lie (they made you memorize the thing) they
never let you tell the truth not even to yourself
deny it keep it hidden in a fancy address till that
disappears then lie some more about the summer
or the future or how hard it is it’s crowded here
of course we want you back you’ll have to wait
so make novenas every month recite your prayers
admit to everything how long exactly has it been
don’t touch don’t look don’t think who brought
the pictures to the house a dead man did I lied I said
my brother to protect my secret please forgive me.
Dies irae, confiteor deo omnipotenti, memorare.
We’re leaving now so long we did the best we could
we let you tag along we gave you shoes we gave you
food we got you to Saint Bernard’s every day no matter
what (not in the end, I did it then, I do believe) we let
you tell your lies in Latin for God’s sake or maybe ours
we let you find your way alone we tried but we were
really very busy look we have a priest we have a nun
we’re sorry about you perhaps you’ll find a way to make
it up to us your business card your street address your
lawn your lovely wife your gifts your talk with Hildegarde
(we had you going there all right) the fairy tales you told
about us to your little flower girls your altar boys.
Requiescant in pacem.
Distracted
(To listen, click here)
Linda waited for the phone to ring she didn’t
hear what I was saying she was waiting for the
goddamned phone to ring to let her know the
boy she loved was still among us hadn’t taken
one too many so to speak he’d roped her in he
had her hanging by her fingernails he couldn’t
help it he just had to have it, must have had an
awful daddy must have had an angry mom he
must have needed something to escape with oh
it felt so good to let it flow inside and take the
pain away he said I think I’ll take the pain away
again or farther what the hell I think I’ll take it
totally away I think I won’t get up tomorrow
Linda waited for the phone to ring the morning
after and she didn’t even listen and it rang thank
God she said excuse me go ahead I was distracted.
That’s how the judge’s boys would go about their
business charming everyone with little tales from
eye-er-land and little sips behind the bathroom
door and titterings and totterings be careful honey
don’t you fall and fall they did they fell about as
far as falls could take them lovely ladies waiting
for the phone to ring I’m so relieved what was it
you were telling me, oh that, I’m sorry I was waiting
for the phone to ring and didn’t hear you break your
arm I didn’t hear you crying in the attic bedroom
didn’t hear your question about architecture school
and neither did your dad he’s got this sickness it’s a
gene it’s not his fault he’s predisposed he has a
need his mother died his father was demanding
he’s so good at heart why look his son’s a priest
he always calls to let me know he’s safe. I see.
Zephyr
(To listen, click here)
She was carrying a lunch box
made in 1942 or was it just a copy
of a re-creation of a time she
couldn’t possibly remember, but
there it was at 2nd Street and
Third in the twilight of a Friday.
The Zephyr, brushed aluminum
and steel, accents painted orange
and black an oval shape with
handles and inside two tomato
sandwiches on Mrs. Karl’s
plain white bread.
There may have been an apple
too some peanut butter cookies
I think Mary Foley had one
Suzanne Proedehl someone like
that a daughter who would bring it
safely home at night crumb free.
I must have wanted one because
it caught my eye today and
suddenly I tried to overtake the
woman she was walking very fast
but then I stopped besides,
what would I have said to her.
I like your lunch box very much
did you pick it just for me did you
pack it with the crackers and the
grapes I like did you bring it down
to school for me when I forgot it
on the porch are you my mom.
She would not have understood.
That Day Too
(To listen, click here)
It was rainy humid August morning hot
I rode a streetcar to the track all black and
soft and silent hiding deep behind the
canvas curtains on the turns to keep the
secrets safe from prying eyes of little boys.
At noon the rumble started and the ground
absorbed the throbbing you could feel it in
your body deep inside uniting everybody there
the air was thick it made the sound and smell
of everything eternal in a way a part of me.
The light made deep blue bluer than it’s ever
been and red was crimson, yellow orange
the dark brown dirt was black and when my
favourite car and driver set a record I recorded
it inside three six four five indelibly for ever.
And they raced and crashed and shook their
fists and dodged the rocks from just below the
surface and they struggled through the dark and
made it to the finish and they cheered and kissed
the little guy who won. And then they disappeared.
There were pictures printed afterward yet hardly
anyone who saw it needed pictures, and the drivers
died, a car has been preserved (without the dirt),
the rumble went away but not the throbbing,
that’s a secret treasure in my hiding place.
That Day
(To listen, click here)
My daddy stood there waiting for me
at the airport I was early but he met
me just the same he waved to me before
I even got into the terminal before I even
had a chance to feel ascared or lose my way.
He brought me coloured pencils and a book
for me to draw the pictures that I like to draw
of places where I dream of living someday,
cars I’d like to drive or maybe even race
or pretty houses, pretty trees or trains.
My daddy told me stories about growing up
he showed me places where he used to play
he took me to his secret hiding place he took
me to the swimming pool he helped me learn
to ride a bike and find my way downtown.
He bought us tickets in the grandstand for the
race we went inside the gate he used the first
time he was there and saw my favourite car
all blue and silver shining there before my eyes
as though my dad had planned it just for me.
A nice policeman stood nearby and I felt safe
enough to wander off and buy my daddy lemonade
I found him just where I had left him and we sat
and watched the race he told me what to look for
and he taught me how to get a better view I saw it all.
My daddy bought me frozen custard afterward he
drove us back he knew the way he let me fall asleep
and Mom was waiting for us at the door when we got
home she fixed us each a dish of peaches and a glass
of milk, the two of you are both the same, she said.
Clothes
(To listen, click here)
I can’t remember dad in
what you might consider
playclothes (no one called
them playclothes then) but
what I mean are jackets
blue jeans Keds I think the
term was tennis shoes at
any rate I can’t remember
dad in them just business
clothes an odd idea because
dad paid almost no attention
to anything but play, his
play, his secret number on
the phone ORchard something,
another part of town where
no one with a BLuemound or
a GReenfield number ever
went his cocktail lounges
his Chicago Tribune on the front
porch doorstep a hundred miles
from Chicago every day his
brother’s wallet in the mail
and dad was hip he said it
was a signal Ray was dead
they killed him for his money.
He wasn’t dead at all, not for
thirty years, he’d merely
found a way to wear his
playclothes every day and
sip his Gettleman at five
o’clock with Linda in a
corner booth the Cubs were
on the radio the breezes off
the lake were fresh the dinner
tasted better with a walk
beforehand spring and autumn
nights would let them carry
their aromas to the bedroom
they could keep the windows
open while they talked in
bed or sipped a late night
coffee listening to the news
from London or New York
from time to time from home
another matter altogether
Ray would tighten up, turn
on his side and fall asleep in
silence Linda didn’t pry she
simply got his playclothes
ready for tomorrow.
Tree
(To listen, click here)
There is an obligatory tree
outside my window leafless.
It is winter although this could be
a night in spring and the tree
could be you or I you and I
each branch entangled with
another crossing at what seems
a million angles sometimes even
growing down or in but always
hoping to eventually reach
up or out to find its sun warm
sweet light nurturing caress.
Summer hides the struggle
in life green so deep it lulls
the one who looks but does not see
into an acceptance of beauty
as simply existing. Yet through spring
the branches ached and stretched
to have their leafy offspring blessed,
and in autumn they would hold
them to the final moment clinging
to the signs of life when life is
actually the aching and the need.
To die is to no longer feel, or seek.
Biscuits
(To listen, click here)
The unfolded cookie fortune said that life
will lead you to places the imagination cannot
picture, on a day I saw a cabin on the coast of
Oregon, biscuits in the oven river spilling toward
the ocean big fat blueberries a telescope to watch
the stars a radio to hear the pilots heading toward
the sunset always just ahead of them it lasts for
hours but they never talk about it are they bored
the mountains to the east becoming pink then
lavender Denise removes the biscuits lets some
butter melt inside and spoons the jelly I pour
coffee then we read aloud and sing together
stay up very late it doesn’t matter we’ll play
horseshoes in the morning is it Saturday I
didn’t notice life will lead you there just wait.
Daily Bread
(To listen, click here)
She prayed herself to tears, she
said dear God, please take my life,
the rest of it, and give it back to
me just one day at a time, o.k.?
And on the first day, her mother
held her in her arms and let her
cry until she stopped and that
felt good and then she fell asleep.
And on the next day she got sick
at school and slept through supper
and her favorite shows and through
her nightly phone call from her dad.
And on the next day she forgot to
eat a decent breakfast and she
didn’t get her work done and she
didn’t do her letters or her lessons.
On the next day she remembered
what she prayed for and she realized
her prayer was answered and she
knew this was her here time for today.
And she whispered thank you God
for giving me another day to do the
best I can with, even though my head
still hurts I promise you I’ll try.
God whispered back that’s all I ask
that’s all I’ve ever asked I love the
way you’re open to the children,
they will learn from you, just wait.
She taught me how to pray tonight
she said just give your life to God
and watch how He returns it to
you, you will be surprised she said.
Trucks
(To listen, click here)
They came in Studebaker trucks, the
Russians came that way to Warsaw, from
the east in trucks that men and women
built by hand in South Bend, Indiana, sold
to Communists to ultimately stop the German
trucks so cleverly designed they had a job to do.
Climb aboard get comfy sit with mama in a
corner it’s so dark in here so hot in here where
are we going can’t we get some air in here what
is that smell mein gott oh honey it’s o.k. it’s
just a little trip oh don’t get sick o.k. hang on
it’s hard to breathe I’m choking let me out.
They brought the fuel in in tanker trucks (like
semis on the Interstate with mudflaps reading
Heil how odd) they let it soak into the load the
trucks had dumped into an open pit they set it
all ablaze it burned for weeks the ashes rising
to the jet stream dusting trucks a world away.
In South Bend, Indiana, maybe, little boys traced
‘wash me’ in the dust on Studebaker trucks lined
up in perfect rows for shipment to the east the
Russians climbed aboard the rest is history related
on my grandson’s birthday nineteen ninety-four
in Poland by a boy who saw the trucks arrive.
Manhattan
(To listen, click here)
One day Jackie Kennedy
looked me in the eye and smiled.
Hi she said and I said hi and then
she turned and walked away.
There were no guards she
simply got out of a taxi looked
me in the eye and smiled.
She wore a checkered jacket
I remember that. Her skirt and
shoes were black it was a
brilliant autumn afternoon.
The tabloids called her Jackie O
a union of convenience not
a marriage just a place to park.
Another time she visited the
office stopped to see the chief I
can’t imagine why although
perhaps she felt obliged.
But as she left she walked
my way she looked me in the
eye and smiled. Hi, we said.
Old friends.
Women
(To listen, click here)
If a woman is my mother
she protects me lets me crawl
into the bed beside her if I’m
frightened lets me know when
she’ll be home she puts an extra
cookie in my lunch box to
surprise me and she takes the
kindergarten plate I’ve made and
finds a way to use it every day.
If a woman is my sister
she’s a partner tells me jokes
she shows me how to make
the sled go faster helps me
find a hideout in the woods
a secret passageway to school
she buys the perfect present
for my birthday and she’s happy
if I win a blue silk ribbon.
If a woman is my daughter
she remembers she forgets
the time she found herself
forgotten at the playground gate
forgives it anyway, forgives
the pain of never fitting in
and now she cherishes its
memory preserves it as
her daughterness embraced.
If a woman is my friend
perhaps she’ll talk about
her father with me send a
postcard from the gulf or
read a book I’ve lent her
and return it. If she needs
a favor she will ask she knows
the way I like my coffee offers
her opinion she can laugh.
If a woman is my lover
we are one in everything
we do we talk but sometimes
without speaking communicate
across the ages or the room
a stethoscope against the
earth records the long slow
pulsebeat of our union
listen to it: boom. boom. boom.
Triumph
(To listen, click here)
She sat all rusting brown all dry and
leather cracked all yellowing and parched
for years and years with no one paying
much attention everyone assuming she’s
o.k. we did the best we could we kept her
covered and we took her on vacation now
and then she acted temperamental like
her British Jaguar sisters but we tried to
understand we let her be alone out back until
one day we thought we’d better have a look.
It wasn’t pretty.
Dad and I decided there and then the time
had come to put our heads together find a way
to bring her back to where she ought to be all
leather soft and oiled wood along the dashboard,
engine opened up and cleaned corroded parts
replaced new glass new chrome new paint new
Union Jack along the cowling canvas top restored
to shield the driver from the rain, new belts and
hoses, spark plugs tyres everything she needs to
tool up Prospect Avenue proudly as she should.
It’s very pretty.
And the really lovely part was watching daddy
figure out the way to do the hardest things he
taught me how to use his favourite tools I
showed him how my home computer lets
us find the parts we need and have them
shipped he paid for some and I did too we
put her back together just the way she ought
to be she’s good as new but better yet she’s
older and she’s been around she knows a
lot she needed fixing real real bad we did it.
Pretty nice, huh.
Tea
(To listen, click here)
The women drink their tea and eat
their okra in the kitchen of a house
built long ago by slaves for slaves a
humble house, and modest women
in the sense of needing very little.
Neither one is clear exactly how she
came to touch the edges of the doors
that lead from room to room not
just today when either one can walk
away, but then when no one could.
What happened on the night that
Sheridan or Sherman tore through
here (I never get them straight) the
master needed help he had to hide the
money and the silver in the ground.
The children from this kitchen ran
to watch the horses and the burning
and the end of what they had and
didn’t have, and some came back to
live, or die, and some were free to go.
And now the women sip their tea,
the older one seems younger to the
younger one, that’s how it is down
here they raise their sons as little
men their little girls to be their silver.
Then they bury it. The older one has
walked away from that for now she’s
free she’s floating on a pillow cloud the
younger one is curious she’s never met a
butterfly before, just drones and slaves.
The tea is sweet the okra warm they talk.
Philosophy
(To listen, click here)
Every student is capable of learning.
Regardless of the complexity of a skill,
it can be mastered by almost anyone,
provided that the skill is broken down
into its simplest components. It’s our job.
I knew a teacher years ago she
learned so much so young she
started in the second grade she’d
hang around the drinking fountain
watching waiting leaking sadness
hoping for a chance to play she
wasn’t dressed for monkey bars
and yet she somehow needed
them she needed to hang upside
down to fall to skin her knees to
break an arm or two she waited
years and years she did what she
was told she took her lessons
found a way to play the notes just
right to please the pleasure seekers
yet without a sound she gathered
scraps and sticks and rocks along
the way and kept them in a secret
box marked simplest components.
Now she’s putting them together
and she’s mastering a skill that’s
so complex that hardly anybody
bothers learning anymore they’d
rather have a guided tour a trip
aboard an air-conditioned bus
a chicken salad sandwich and
an iced tea made by someone else
a book on tape a virtual reality a
video will do for me the news from
Chuck and Sue no need to read
they’ll tell me all I need to know
a set of goals a road map with
just Interstates no expectation of
surprise no streetlight whispering
relax I’m taking care of everything
but chances are they never had
a teacher like the one I knew so
long ago her lesson plan was simple
it’s our job and anyone can learn.
Rome
(To listen, click here)
In the Middle Ages, it is said,
a woman became pope, Pope Joan,
but no one knew it when they chose
her and they killed her when they
found out she was pregnant.
At the monastery, women often
show up for the tour, but no,
you’ll have to stay here in the
guest house there’s a movie we
can show you, no offense intended.
Exactly what made Jesus’ first
priests priests? Last Supper, they
were there, Monsignor says. But
what about the women cooking,
serving. No, he said, case closed.
Not so long ago they still required
women to be cleansed from giving
birth before reentering a church,
Rebecca’s mother pure as snow
among them, something’s wrong.
At church, Rebecca asks her little
boy, who’s 2, exactly what he sees
there in the stable on Epiphany.
A baby and some guys, he says.
Got that one right, she thinks.
Here Too
(To listen, click here)
Here, she said, I think you’ll like this
and I did, I liked it very much, I stayed
from then till now I have no plans to
leave I’m here as long as I am welcome.
Here is where I am and what I do here
matters, I can write or think or read or
play or dream here, how I got here isn’t
clear at all it doesn’t matter here I am.
Sometimes here is more complex, an
electronic linking up with there to form
a here that doesn’t seem to have an
address or coordinates or anything.
And sometimes electronics plays no
part at all, the linkup just links up from
out of nowhere and I’m here in no time
so to speak and that’s the point, in fact.
Here can change I think I can remember
being somewhere else sometime but
maybe I was someone else and here
was just the being her or being him.
And now I’m me, right here, my work
my play my thoughts my words my
dream are all inside this poem and
anyone who reads it can be here as well.
U.S.
(To listen, click here)
My country, it is of you I sing.
Land of execution
land of abortion
land of Dr. Jack
in his mobile death chamber
his Volkswagen bus.
Land of not in my backyard
land of do not tax me
do not tread on me
land of do not talk to me
land of do not touch me.
Land of private property
of guns of drugs of drink
of man-boy love associations
land of living room pornography
land of condoms handed out to children.
Land where our fathers died
of too much liquor or
of too much pressure to
acquire property or power
land of widows driving Cadillacs.
Land of Sunday morning only mea culpas
land of lotto land of Nascar
land of electronic spying land of
hunters with no need to hunt
land of homicide.
Land of women selling bodies
selling babies selling lies
land of cardboard beds on city sidewalks
land of vomit land of piss
land of fuck you asshole.
Land whose autoimmune system
is deficient, and there is no cure
just pills to keep the thing in check
for now and maybe later
chemistry will have an answer.
And maybe not.
Fifty
(To listen, click here)
It was fifty years ago today
I learned the truth, or had it
told to me at least, perhaps
I didn’t learn till later on, in
fact, for all I know I have some
learning left to do about what
happened fifty years ago today.
It’s very hot, but look, between
the window here and that one
over there, a little boy can sit and
feel a breeze, a little stirring
of the air, enough, perhaps, to
carry music from the village or
the fair park or the Coffee Drome.
Sometimes that little breeze
would bear a whisper saying
don’t you worry Bobby, I’ll
take care of you, I’ll teach you
everything you need to know
to grow up strong and smart
and good and be God’s helper.
I may have heard the whisper but
I can’t remember clearly, there
were other voices interfering
saying it’s your fault, no wonder
nothing works with you around,
we’ll try without you, after all,
what have we got to lose.
It didn’t work, surprise surprise,
their voices stopped, but others
took their place and chanted on
do this do that do what you want
but don’t do that and don’t you dare
and don’t you get it we don’t want
you go away please don’t come back.
That final don’t became a blessing
in disguise, I paid attention and
I found a place to not come back
from. It is very quiet here, at night
a gentle breeze can bring a whisper
to my bedroom and I’ll hear it.
That’s a good boy, hold my hand.
Bang Bang
(To listen, click here)
Pillboxes dot the hillside
over San Francisco Bay, you’re
free to step right in and draw a
bead on anything at all below
and blast it from the water or the
air and no one has to know or
care it’s just a way to carry
out your private little war.
Ack ack the fatboy’s hit and look,
he’s falling from the sky his
parachute has failed of course
they didn’t plan for loads like
that he’s headed for the rocks
I’ll bet he thinks his mommy
has a pile of pillows waiting
once again not this time porky.
Kepow pow pow their yacht
explodes My Bag o’ Trix he called
it and she liked the way her
bottom nestled in the topdeck
chair a glass of wine right there
for her to sip I don’t ask questions
he’s an honest lawyer he deserves
a little something now and then.
Shhhhhhhabooom that little sucker
found its target in the dark, the
noble so-called public servant
much too busy telling everyone
he’s noble look how many times
I’ve been elected, hell there aren’t
a lot of men like me out there.
That’s right, and one less now.
War’s over, time to go.
Restoration
(To listen, click here)
I slipped into the Metropolitan
at night, the blackest part of night,
and no one saw me take the angel
from its pedestal, how odd to call it
that, an angel with her gentle wings
might view her earthly resting place
as perch or roost or nesting place,
it doesn’t matter, when I lifted her
she offered no resistance and I held
her in my arms and ran, her legs
around my waist, my neck a holding
on place for her arms, a marble
cherub sculpture like a toddler,
hanging on to daddy for dear life.
Out the door and through the park
we ran, I ran, but somehow she
became a part of me, it may have
been her wings that made the two
of us seem lighter than just one of us
had been, I’ve never understood the
physics of the supernatural, but I was
stronger, lighter, faster than before,
we ran across Columbus Circle, down
to 43rd and Broadway over to an indoor
parking lot on 42nd Street where no one
ever dreamed to look. We rested there,
we caught our breath and then we
took our time and walked. For hours.
I was barefoot and I never noticed,
and my shirt was not tucked in,
my pants were baggy, I was paying
more attention to the angel who
by now was more like me and I was
more like her, her marble arms and
legs were flesh, like mine, and no,
I had no wings, but I could fly, and
best of all I felt restored to something
I had been before the fall of man.
I took my stolen angel to the garden
I had lived in till I chose to eat and
play (forgive me God) instead
of fast and work. She’s waiting.
She has found a drafting board, a T square,
all the paper I will ever need,
and pencils.
Pause
(To listen, click here)
She died she thought she was surprised
to find a waiting room a resting place a
cup of coffee on the counter music drifting
through the air it’s Patsy Cline and Artie Shaw
it’s Benny Goodman shall I turn it down
a bit the owner wondered would you like
a bite to eat some eggs and toast some
onion rings some soup some apple pie to
go with that, tomorrow’s paper, yes tomorrow’s
paper wait a minute where exactly am I.
It’s o.k. the owner said it’s cold outside it’s
warm in here it’s hot outside we’re always
cool it’s wet we’re dry we’ve got some books
a leather couch to curl up in in the Hiawatha
room we haven’t got a television people
say they never miss it once they’re safely
in the door we’ve got a radio however, late
at night we sometimes pull in Pittsburgh or
Saint Louis on the shortwave set we get
the BBC, the pilots on their way to Gander.
The pictures on the wall were oddly personal
she thought, the drinking fountain from her
playground, bubbler from the Wauwatosa
bus stop where the driver was surprised to
find a 12 year old at 6 a.m. on Christmas there
were racing cars and saxophones and family
picnics fire trucks and bicycles and trains, she
was astonished by the trains this used to be a
pretty busy place the owner said, the morning
rush, the same at six, the stragglers after midnight.
Another woman looking at the pictures saw a
garden near her mother’s house the sunset off
the coast of Ecuador her favorite horse an early
morning view of Machu Picchu butterflies she’d
studied as a child, and then the man who walked
in as she sipped her coffee ambled over for a
closer look the photos on the wall were clearly
his, his bowling team, his barbershop quartet,
the day they took the elm tree from his yard his
high school prom his ’37 Hudson Terraplane.
The owners held each other’s hand as someone
left to catch the train it comes at six it’s never
late it’s always heading west sometimes it’s
crowded sometimes not the people are relaxed
they’ve waited all their lives for this they’re
safe on board they take a seat the extra day
or year they spent inside the Coffeedrome, the
name the owners gave it in a dream one year,
the time inside was beautiful they wave goodbye
they blow a kiss it’s always open never closed.
Visiting
(To listen, click here)
It was an angel, absolutely,
doing what an angel does,
delivering a message.
And the message was you’ve
done no harm, in fact you’ve
done some good, I know it’s
difficult to see that from your
point of view, but don’t forget
your viewing point is clouded
it’s a very humid time it’s hard
to breathe, it’s late you’ve had
no sleep, you’re doing several
things at once and every one of
them is loaded with the bloody
tug-of-war inside you, hardly
anybody knows about it even
some who do don’t really want
to understand it, maybe later
it will stop and neither side
will ‘win,’ they’ll simply all
sit down and laugh and have
some coffee and some cookies
and go walking in the park
along the lake it’s pretty there.
And then the angel said goodbye,
don’t worry I’ll take care of
this, I love you, get some rest.
Thursday
(To listen, click here)
Later, when we’re older,
I will buy you chocolate sodas
every Thursday afternoon.
When you’ve finished, with a napkin
dipped in water, I will wash
your chin, your lips, your fingertips.
I promise.
Yes
(To listen, click here)
There would be no poetry without
the breath of yes you whispered
seemed to whisper, maybe not the
word itself, yes, yet you offered me
the sense of yesness hushhhhh
it’s o.k., it’s o.k., yes it is, yes, yes.
I could hear your heart a room
within a room my room I closed
my eyes surround me with the
sound of you the gentle pounding
just above me take your time
I’ll wait for you. I will be there, yes.
I could feel the silent softness
of your fingers on my eyelids on
the throbbing in my temples on
the butterfly you welcomed when I
placed it in your hand. I’ll take
care of it. I’ll take care of you in it.
Yes I will, yes. Yes
