Remora (Latin for Delay)
My shark mother
flies me through the reeds,
up and out to where
the water is deeper
under me, under her.
I have found
a good place
to attach.
I don’t worry much.
We have errands today.
She is hunting, will pass me
the pieces she doesn’t need.
It will be some kind of fish;
I don’t need to know
how to name it.
Everything used to be someone,
and anyway, names tell lies.
Instructions
Welcome to the step-down unit.
We hope your stay is very pleasant
and that the curtains don’t turn you
into lace. That happens sometimes.
The left curtain in the dayroom is
named Sheila. Watch out for Sheila—
she bites when you least expect it.
Such as when you are secretly
eating the Lorna Doones that
were given to Paul on visiting day.
There are Lorna Doones at the
nurses’ desk, too, but they
never taste as good.
Driveway
I don’t think the whole class needed to know about
wet celery in the drain. If you never eat a plum,
how will you know what it tastes like? Sometimes
there is a buzz in my brain like a, like a what do
you call the thing that lashes out and cuts down
weeds with its vicious-fast snake of a tongue?
It’s like that, only nothing stays down for
long; the driveway of my mind won’t stay
edged, devolves into broken pavement and
ant-blasted dirty sand, all the scrubby stems,
meaningless leaves. Nobody sees them.
Everybody sees them. If you forget I was
talking about celery, don’t forget I was
talking about celery. And what
should we do with
the plum?
Post Office
If only I could live
among the specks
of these tiles,
whirling in vinyl
constellations
of chips.
If only this rug were
a good place to rest,
its textured surface
prickling my cheek.
If only this blue neon
accent lighting were
the closest thing
I had to daylight.
I could atrophy,
watch my skin
lose its color.
If only a P.O. box
offered a space
to hold my heart.
Cool, corrugated
metal; I’d keep
the key.
If only I could wear
this webbed ribbon
that marks where
to stand. I would
pull it from its posts,
wrap it around myself
like the belt of Orion.
Someday
Shout in a barrel
to awaken the frog
who lives inside,
drinking your root beer
like it’s his job.
Someday, you’ll roll
that barrel down
a hill—bumps, jolts,
hillocks dislodging
that blasted frog,
the foam on his
silly frog lips;
his eyes will be
the size of pennies,
and you will know
you’ve startled him,
made him think
the barrel times are
over, no more
stolen root beer days.
For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Please go visit some of the many other fine poet bloggers there!
Many, many thanks to Mohana at insanebloom for the Reader Appreciation Award nomination. Mohana is a poet whose work I’ve really been enjoying over the past few weeks, so this means a lot. Here are the poets I’m nominating for that same award:
http://inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com
http://flipsiderecords.wordpress.com
http://the-tenth-muse.com
http://repressedsoul.wordpress.com
Please check them out! Also, be sure to visit dVerse Poets each Tuesday afternoon/evening/night for Open Link Night. I decided to choose my nominees by clicking on many, many of the links there and selecting a few that really struck a chord with me.
One of them even uses the same WordPress theme as mine … bonus points for that.
Let Memory Be a Paneled Room
Let us now be gracious
and thank our humble homes.
From shag carpet we arose;
the ugly couch was always
more comfortable before
it was reupholstered,
made more acceptable
to our changing eyes. Let us
now love Linoleum, warm
underfoot, forgiving of stains,
those accidents of carelessness
and time. How the years passed.
Let memory be a paneled room
with heavy curtains. Let it keep
every word we ever spoke.
Mary Ann of mypenandme nominated me for a Super Sweet Blogging Award, and I could not be more thrilled! I am in great company with her other nominees, and I feel so honored to be recognized in this way. Please check out Mary Ann’s blog, after you’re done admiring these beautiful cupcakes.
The Super Sweet Blogging Award requires responses to a few questions, as follows:
1) Cookies or cake? Cake, and preferably a piece of real cake, not a cupcake.
2) Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate, but as I get older, I appreciate the subtleties of vanilla more than I used to. In a restaurant, I will almost never order the boring chocolate thing if there’s a more interesting nonchocolate option available.
3) What is your favorite sweet treat? Because it’s summer and there are Red Haven peaches at the farmer’s market, I am thinking of peach shortcakes. I use the recipe on the Bisquick box. I think I cut the amount of sugar I use on the fruit, and I add some orange or lemon juice so the peaches don’t turn quite so brown. I whip cream, which is always fun because there’s that moment where if you go a step too far, you’ve made butter instead.
4) When do you crave sweet things the most? At the end of the workday or after dinner.
5) If you had a sweet nickname, what would it be? My late mother used to call me Biddy, or Bid for short. It would be sweet to hear her call me that again.
And finally, I need to nominate some others whose blogs I enjoy:
http://insanebloom.wordpress.com/
http://www.waystationone.com/
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/
http://susanspoetry.blogspot.com/2012/08/thirst.html
http://immortalmuse.wordpress.com/
http://hollyannegetspoetic.wordpress.com/
http://the-tenth-muse.com/
That was hard … I enjoy so many, particularly on Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Please go visit all my nominees, and thanks again, Mary Ann from mypenandme!
Cliff Dwelling
In a niche,
dust,
flowers
battered
by wind,
visited
only by
the bravest
of bees.
Everything
ages,
bakes
like brick.
Sun
through
metal
window
frames.
Dirty glass.
There are
children
squirreled
into nests
of softness,
park visits,
admonishments
not to touch
windowsills,
wiped daily
for lead.
This is not
poverty.
This is a
certain
vertical
choice,
lives
stacked
high.
At night,
a soft crumble
of concrete
in the walls,
a whisper
now and then.
Some lights
on;
some lights
off,
dreams,
thoughts
humming.
Synchro
If you dive
like I dive,
I will count
it off for you,
ask if you
are ready.
We will
leap off
together,
spin out
over the
water
that waits
to receive
us with
barely
a splash
of sound.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 