January 28th, 2014


Old Piano, Frou Frou, 2002

I want to gather all their words
and present them to you in a bouquet

stare at their faces - if you don't blink
and let your eyes dry

you can see their bones on the page
and how every bone looks the same 

I have made it to a corner room with windows
We can see the hilton through the slats

Are you a miss or mrs the new student says
in what is almost but is not a southern drawl

What would I even write about if I did not teach?

What goes on in the world outside of classrooms?

Suddenly it is easy to see how sunlight could press
down on a person in a chair on a porch until dust
gathered around everything and eventually what
gathered dust became it.

It isn't that hard to lose your life. I have lost whole
years, and more recently, a day or two, and certainly
many hours to this thing they calling "living"
which is really just the toenail clippings of life.

I have been a mother many times
but never through my body.

Last night I fell asleep on the floor
murmuring protests against my body
and this morning I had to pick up all the
things I lost while the fire flickered
behind my head the carpet bit into my skin
leaving tiny cuts along my back.

Everything has a cost.