Wednesday, April 16, 2008

NaPoWriMo Shame

I am terribly behind. I do, however, plan to finish my thirty days worth of National Poetry Writing Month poems. I simply won't be finishing them in April.

It's been very busy.
Good things have been happening.

I will return.

Friday, April 4, 2008

NaPoWriMo - Day 3

How Sarah Was Before and After


Move these feet in something like closeness.
Sarah could do this. Before she was Suzanne she was Sarah, and she remembered the softness of her grandmother’s arm.

When she was still Sarah, she let the bits of eye dust rise in the air and touch her nose before falling. Now it is this paint chip on the wall that reminds her of her brother

before that time.

I was taught this closeness of feet when we danced the horah with laced fingers.
Perhaps Zelig did this with the tall women he liked so much, while Sarah watched the lights of Paris from a taxi.

In Virginia, my silver necklace broke and we never found the coral ball.

In Virginia, a boy named Desmond liked to touch my hair.

In Virginia, bamboo grew next to the school.

Sarah and Max came to Virginia with names long gone. They brought me a red corduroy dress with black polka dots. I wore it through the summer heat.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

NaPoWriMo - Day 2

Old Medicine


Marjem knows.
It is harder to learn of the things to come,
of the ridges on her ovaries and the tragedy
of shoes and skin.

The first is for her.
The second, for Israёl.

Marjem knows.
She is feeding Max butter and cheese to fatten him.
She is feeding him goat’s blood to chase away the tape worm.
Store the carp in the bath tub and chop it quickly with

swift
sure
strokes.

I was a little girl in Illinois.
The other children ate onions from the ground
that they washed in bowls,

pretending

that the fertilizer wouldn't kill them.

Let's tie down the acres and move the fields to rotting.
Bundle up the Queen Anne's Lace that Marjem wore on her wedding day.
Gather up the little girl who wouldn't eat the onion plants.

Note: After the fish was cooked, Israёl would give Max its crunchy eyes to eat. A salty symbol of affection.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

NaPoWriMo-DAY 1

White Circles


This is the way we sweep the sinking sadness of water.
It’s hard being out of tweak
still calling you by a different name you can’t exchange
for pennies.


These fights
These fights for something other than marzipan fruit
have made me into a box actor,
have
made
me
speak lines with many mouth shapes.


Let us (you and I)
slip into the edges of the husk and curl together as mealworms might.
There is room enough for Raisla
and the breadmaker
and the midwife as well.


Take the crooked fingers and straighten the veins into
highways and landing strips.
This is the way we watch the sun spots invade our face parts.
This is the way we crawl beneath our fingernails.
This is how I throw you into the white circles of my blood.