the pi of life
the harsh obbligato of unpartnered cicadas
the foghorn’s dirge piercing grey wool nights
the shrill of spam on the always-obliging phone
the cigarette cough interrupting the first sip of coffee
these things remind me i’m alive
every day is a clone of the one preceding
the thin veneer of pretty long scraped off
all the beautiful lies in an unmarked grave
somewhere over the rainbow
only a fool thinks life is fair
still that stubborn gem quixotic hope shimmers
somewhere deep inside the coffin of my chest
fighting its way through the phlegm of nicotine
inflating lungs too tired to breathe
every exhalation carries rue’s perfume
when the sun pierces thinfleshed lids i look out the
window at a world where the reaper lives in every
breath thinking of those with so much to live for
wishing i could donate my allotted span to save them
but the wizards haven’t magicked a time bank yet
as i rise to meet another day in which
supposedly anything can happen
i cough my way to the kitchen
recalling blue skies a yellow butterfly
the innocence of a child i barely remember
america’s garden
but now the spades are bent
and broken
tilling up nothing
but the soil of treason
under which lies
the explosive ordnance of violence repression and every other evil
accruing to a government
no longer by and for the people
become a cash cow for traitors
whose armies of thugs
methodically bury the ash
of every age-old promise and safeguard scribed in the blood
of patriots on the parchment
of our founding
there is no nourishment in this soil
unwatered by anything but the salt
of tears and the promise of blood
that will flow in a river of resistance
and as the sun sets behind
the far western clouds i weep
donating the tears i cannot swallow
to this gardens own with nothing
but the seeds of mayhem and violence
unanswered prayers
out and about in the midnight city
too restless to sleep too jumpy to read
stalking the darkened streets
a spectre blending into the shadows
i pondered the great mysteries
life love death
beads on a neuron rosary
praying to unknown gods for answers
of course no answer came
for what are gods but our
feeble explanations for that which cannot
and never will be known
and so unanswered I walked on
occasionally glancing up at burning windows
wondering if the people behind them
were praying the rosary as well
saturday night at the movies
tonight i did something
i rarely do
took myself off to a movie
all by my lonesome
(a comedy
because i desperately needed to laugh)
no one else being available
and theatres universally frowning on
cats as escorts
there was nothing for it but to go alone
i got here early
(because that's what I do)
and tucked myself in a corner
by the popcorn stand
elbows on counter
leaning nonchalant
and watching
the saturday night moviegoers pour in
the first to catch my attention
was a teenage pair
he trying to act worldly
(although judging from
his almost beardless state
i'd say one or the other parent
delivered them here)
she all giggly and vivacious
but when their eyes happened to meet
i could see that current of first love
zizzing between them
and i laughed
not scornfully
but remembering my own first foray
into that sweet but treacherous pool
feeling that wonderful excitement
you know only until love's sharp stiletto
has blooded you but good
silently i wished them a wondrous journey and turned my attention to the couple standing next to me
waiting for their popcorn
both of them beefy
both of them tired
clearly worn out
and on a rare escape from
what's probably a houseful of kids
a boisterous dog
and a cat that pukes on the carpet
in the den
the woman chattering away
with barely a breath between
whatever caught her attention
not even noticing her husband
head swivelling
was paying no attention
but instead checking out
all the young women parading around
in their date night clothes
every bit as tacky as you might expect
(but probably right up his alley)
i squeezed out a smidgin of pity
for the wife (but only a smidgin)
knowing perfectly well that even if
her rude lump of a man some day
made a secret play for one of those
gauzy butterflies
he'd get nothing but a faceful of laughter
or a loud are you fucking kidding me?
detaching myself from the counter
i strolled across the lobby
toward the ladies'
and was almost knocked over by
two men
clearly in love
with eyes only for each other
big burly denim and leather boys
laughing (in that very masculine way)
and flirting
and clearly not giving a damn
(and bravo i say)
that the less sophisticated patrons
(almost everybody)
were twisting their smalltown mouths into cedillas of disgust
or at the very least disapproval
truth be told
i was enjoying the newsreel in the lobby so much i was debating
about going in to watch the film at all
the gaggle of boys too young
to have yet been pierced
by cupid's hormonal dart
vehemently arguing the merits
of various superheroes
made me smile in sad reminiscence
of my own dead young warrior
but then two old biddies
hugging the wall in front of a poster
of some sappy love story
whispering and pointing
(surreptitiously i'm sure they thought)
at everyone the least bit out of the ordinary
(they even pointed at me
although I can't imagine why
i'm wearing neither my habit
nor my red shoes)
dredged up ugly thoughts
of home
so i headed for the dark chute
leading to the silver screen
something made me turn around
something told me there was someone yet to see
and there you stood
and though i'd never seen you before
i recognized you immediately
and i could tell you knew me too
so here we are at last
and about time i say
we don't need a silver screen
we don't need a script
give me your hand
we'll go make a real-life movie
of our own
safety glass
hands on frame
a little pressure down
and done
draw the blind
pull the drape
and the world
disappears
shutting out sunlight
illuminating that
which is too painful
to be examined
i have one in my heart
it's old and creaky
a little out of plumb
but it works
i mostly keep it closed
i am no daughter of helios
aeolus's cold breath whistles in
but the chamber is dark
people say i'm foolish
to ignore the possibility
of beauty within arm's reach
just outside the panes
but
shuttered in shadows
i am safe
from every beautiful thing
that makes me cry
RC deWinter’s poetry is widely anthologized, notably in New York City Haiku (NY Times, 2/2017) Connecticut Shakespeare Festival Anthology (River Bend Bookshop Press, 12/2021), Now We Heal: An Anthology of Hope, (Wellworth Publishing, 12/2020) easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles (Patrick Heath Public Library,11/2021) New Contexts:3 Coverstory Books, April 2022) In print: 2River, Event Magazine, Gargoyle Magazine, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Meat For Tea: The Valley Review, the minnesota review, Night Picnic Journal, Plainsongs, Prairie Schooner, Ogham Stone, Southword, The Frogmore Papers, Variant Literature, Yellow Arrow Journal, The York Literary Review among others and appears in many online publications as well.
No comments:
Post a Comment