SINGLE. SOLITARY. WORD.

i've only tonight started
responding to pictures of you.
not in earnest, of course.
just like how we all talk...
to pictures.
sometimes.
yeah.
ok.

Hey! It looks like sun!
It is! There are a million of us
Just wandering in the lobby
Waiting for our turn out that
Massive revolving door.

Some are just going around
And around. Laugh it up, asshole.
Some of us actually want out!
Some of us miss the heat on our cheek
Our lungs full of it.

Throw my arm out in a point
And wedge through the crowd.
We're all wide-eyed over each other
I make a break for it
Yeah, whatever, Buddy. Excuse this.

And it is all it's cracked up to be
It really is. Every minute of it.
I could stay out here forever
Hours, Days, Weeks, Months...
It burns my skin like love.

But here they come.
Back inside, you. Back inside.
A sharp jab in my side
I'm going! I'm going! Christ.
Give a girl a moment.

But there it was, and there it went.
Like a firecracker.
So brilliant and hilarious in its heat
Now it's burned-up cardboard.
And we all line up, looking back.

Back inside. Back inside.
Feel that draft of plastic air
Cherish the heat in your skin
In your hair, on your lips
It's gone before you know it.

I have, as always, an overactive imagination
There is little that can enter my mind without
Being taken apart, hollowed out, filled with sugary make-believe
And put back together.

When I met you, my workshop was out of work
But not nearly out of order, you see --
I've been more frustrated lately. I have
Far less patience for your kind.

I'd been making mountains into molehills for years,
Sweeping every exciting moment out of the way
None of it mattered, none of it counted. None real.
And I was prepared to keep it up, honestly.

Of course there were smaller things that happened here and there
Where someone would catch my eye and
The elves would go back to work slowly, begrudgingly
Then throw their tools in the shed. Nothing.

But...then. Don't ask me why. The light went on.
I think my surprise lent to my curiosity.
And it was red. And the workshop clocks ticked
The hum and machinery rocked into full tilt.

So here I am, perfectly still but with this
Dream Factory crunching in my head, thinking -
What if your mind looks like mine? The shreds
Of paper, I'm sure, can wait until later.

Late-ish one morning, the heat like a blanket,
Your face is all mirrored and bright
I have wondered at my inability
To make my mind known every night.

It's all very well now you're leaving. You have
Plenty of things on your mind.
And I have the leisure of waiting to see
If I cross it from time to time.

And that isn't all that I'm thinking, you'll note
As my reverie comes to the point.
I'll be hanged if I'll allow loose ties to bind
Or a fancy to disappoint.

So go on and be what you're most willing to
Pay no mind to my whimsical thought.
For just as the others go thither and fro
I'd just as soon like you as not.

But it is worth the thought, I suppose, for now
So I linger to watch it grow.
And in the event that it does no such thing
I'll most eagerly let it go.

And even as words flow onto the pages
My eyes understand what they see
A few dozen attempts at a mock indifference
And hardly a word about me.

For it's easy enough to say all these things
Even easier to write them all down
The old heart, however, will wash them away
At a moment, a word, or a sound.

So i'll just be a tired young lady and sport
A big smile for all that I see,
But you are the one I'll be thinking about
When I lay down my pen finally.

It’s as if you awoke the sleeping giant
A giant child with eyes like spoons
Reflecting everything distorted, inaccurate
The eyes I had for years
Sleeping in wait of some
Blundering inspiration.

In their half-asleep stupor they
Stumble around the room and fall down
Skinning their eyeball knees on some
Rough, aged edge or another
Yet they can’t be taken off yours
This is peculiar.

You seem free enough, happy enough
To give my spoony, warped mirror eyes
A fair enough glance, albeit short-lived
Because you must know it’s dangerous
I’ll contract my old vertigo in
This ancient funhouse

The bandages off her old wounds
The giant girl lumbers through your lawn
Misstepping through chords and guitar strings
Tripping on something there is
There is something. There is!
She just waits to fall into it.

when someone drives over the sewer lid
outside my window, it makes a knocking sound -
a hollow metallic introduction
someone is beckoning the street
make room for me in your house, Daejam
i'm coming in.

if i heard such a knock and such a cry,
i'd make them more than welcome here in mine.
a dirty kitchen, an oscillating fan
what more could they want?
a little first-pancake homemade gimbap
and we're sorted.

i've almost forgotten the smell of laundry
and how to bake and how to drive a car
but i eat green things and sew clothing -
i've made one skirt -
so i think i'll have some things to take
back with me.

from one street to another, hollow out your world
and make a place for me to fit back into mine
somehow i will make this broken puzzle
fit together without corners
i'll hem the edges with teal string, and put it
back in the box.

There once was an old man from Guelph
Whose "appetite" sat on a shelf
He took it all down
When Miss Jay came to town
And spilled it all over himself

Now she was a pretty young thing
With hair like a raven in spring
She lured him quite rightly
And dealt with him nightly
While he deftly screwed up everything

i just can't get these words out of my head so i'm going to put them here...i might elaborate on them later.



Hey! Grass-stain lady!
Yeah, that's right.
Your mother told us you're
twenty-four.
Now, give us back
our lemonade!

i put my wet hand in the freezer
and it came out stuck to a meaty
piece of memory i thought i cleared out
a long time ago.
the veins still visible through the bag
the hot pulse of my fingers
enough to thaw entire glaciers
like butter on a hot knife.

open it up. open it up and it's
preserved there for examination.
pick up your pick and your saw and
have at it.
what else have you got to do
with the rest of your day?
you can't make it hot again
just by looking at it.

and into the pan with the cursed
onions and garlic, to taste -
make it steam and burn all
over the place.
you'll consume the last of him
in a swarthy, ferocious session
and down he'll go without
a glimpse or an argument.

In a breath, she encompasses
everything I've ever known of
Womanhood.
How I would have died in her shoes
How I would have quaked and melted
Crowbarred from her
at eighteen.

But on and on she travelled
In those shoes
And I live most moments
In a parallel wish, hoping
to be a fraction of her
strength and persistence.
An actual, real life, woman.

And is it not what I am?
Ripening, as I am,
My youth in transition
Hers as radiant as when I was born.
We're two women.
It's almost hard to think
But it's true - We're two women.

And I can scarcely think
What calamity will befall
That word - woman -
Now that I, too, am allowed
to claim it.
All her work. All my mess.
Sidling along Lilburn together -

In our same-ish sized feet
We'll walk and drive and curse
The Sunday Buicks on Five Forks
We'll snort and bellow
Bad Goodbye, Walking After Midnight -
Get off the road!
We're coming through!
I'm coming through!
I'm coming home.
I'm coming home!

And I'll clean up.
I'll make it right.
I'll take the couch and
the dishes and I'll be home late
But up early, and I won't mess it up.
I promise.
Happy Mother's Day







annnndd an untitled one I wrote for my mom two years ago that I dug up for the occasion...

in an instant, forgiving, blessed with
forthought and forward thinking
protection in the coil of an arm
the sense with which you grasp
the finer attributes of gracious living
finishing touches at the start
loving, living, lifting,
pointing all the way in each
direction, I see you, Mom.
and you see us in yourself.

There! Another is arriving.
They've been streaming in for days
Unchallenged, Unbelievable
Slithering vacantly into homes
Lighting up doorways and windows
We've been watching them
Waiting our turn.

My boots have rested on this
Counter-top for two centuries
What feels like one million days
Only a few hours.
Just watching and waiting
This hour was destined,
Known of old.

Our eyes are glittering mirrors
Their forms glide on our pupils
Like ghosts over ice
And in front is the Master
Her body like a golden arrow
Her army in her wake, a metallic flock
To reclaim this City.

My home on the hill and my man
Their eyes, those of my children
I can see them widen
I feel him covering their shoulders
And he knows that I'll be first
The instructions on the bedside table
My stew in the freezer.

Tying up laces, We half march
We half-run, half-fly (it feels)
To the gates to meet our beginning
We see the Protectors' coach gleaming
And we step into the shoes we'll fill
One hundred years or more
Until they feel ground again.

We few have been the Gaurdians
Our families entwined in the bricks
for centuries, each taking our turn
to leave the hill and take our
Mothers' place in the heavens
Unable to return until our daughters
Have come of age.

And in the corner I see Her
My ancient mother, and in the other I see
Her, my daughter. The one returning,
The other new, but she'll be where I am
Her boots bigger, Her eyes wiser
Looking on her home as she
Rises to protect it.

Sign in.
Climb the stairs to the
Universe.
it's there - on the door. with my awful picture.
Sit for twenty minutes
as they pile in.
Good Morning, Amanda Teacher
Good Morning, Heidi. How are you?
I'm so happy.
That's good.

One electric arpeggio later
Purple Books?
Yes. Purple Books.
F-Fan
F-Feather
F-Frog
Repeat.
Listen.
Repeat.
Arpeggio bell.

Apples/bread/juice/?
Another bell.

An hour. Three years old.
Good morning Sarah Teacher
Amanda Teacher
Good morning Sa-Amanda Teacher
How are you?
How are you?
No - I'm fine thank you.
I'm fine thank you.
How are you?
How are you.
No, I'm -- bell.

Soup. rice. kimchee.
more please
finished please.
more bells.
more bells.
more bells.

I should know.
more homework. Check it.
I should know. Don't check it.
less homework. Check it.
i should know. you should know.
no mistakes. they're paying for you.
no mistakes. they want results.
no mistakes? none.
you should know.
i should know. I'm

half.
done.
with.
this.

On Ponce de Leon there is a man
A blind man who wears spandex shorts
in the middle of winter.
He stands there at the corner
While you wait for the light
to turn.
Your friend - who is driving -
cannot make the air conditioning work
And Moreland is already backed up
the heat makes it look like
a melting painting
And you're staring at this blind man.
Because he can't see any of this.
or you.

Along a path driven only by soldiers and messengers
In a blur of expectation, whistling, boiling
There are stones in all of our shoes
Climbing each step with building certainty
We all sat down to empty them and prepare
My eyes growing out of my head and pulling
When out of the sky flew a lightening bird
Like an eager dog on a sort leash
It sang through the air in an evil hiss
Scouring for faces, familiar eyes and noses
It wrapped its eager talons around our arms
Built into one long overgrown memory, smiling
It burned our eyes and everywhere, all around
Make one giant long-legged leap into their arms
There were images of those we missed the most
And breathing deep the scent of care and calm.
There was damage of untold proportions
Surely there’s no greater day than this
Every chest I’ll cling to and every cheek I’ll kiss.
Our eyes flickering like birthday candles.

I can see them in pictures
in shreds of old paper
pasted to books, mounted on walls
I've never known these faces
or could pretend to know
pain like this

I wander about my one-room
in a small city in Korea
thousands of miles from
any news.  any update.
I could find it all somewhere
but I don't.

If i keep it at arms length
if i speak out in passion when
i feel compelled to do so
then I've done my part - haven't I?
I've made my mark
I've done nothing.

Even now on my bed
I pound the keys in vain
I live a thousand seconds of peace
and never feel one of them
as hard or as long
as they might.

try as it might this day will not wind up
it's cord unleashed in the alley
frightened tail-less cats darting
this way and that

i've sat atop the hill all day waiting
for the wind to blow me over
onto the other side so i can roll
on into the street

instead i seem stuck like a pin in it
the people blow and swirl around me
but i am static, constant, unwavering
quite involuntarily

there was a stretch in the early morning
when i was not awoken from a strange dream
or a passing pain or ailment
and i was thankful

but now i grab the night's arms
and shake it into submission, saying
"i'll pull shut the window and light my candle -
make you lie awake with me."

when i was a baby
they put their sunglasses on me
and called me "pee-pie"
now it's "peep"

three sisters.
bicker, fight, scratch
like they were still 12
and 10 and 6.

on holidays we lay out
on Melita's bed
and give backrubs.
but Khrissi has the long nails

so you want to get
in front of her.

i changed the world once.
it was a beautiful thing.
in two moments the whole planet
was tied up in string.
and everyone believed
and everyone called out
the earth shook with their madness
it was the end of all doubt

I sailed the sea once
it was the first time for me
for forty-seven days the whole ocean
was at my command
and everybody saw it
and everybody sighed
they all thought i'd forget that
but it was I who had tried.

I made my own dress once
it was covered in lace
the kind that no one wears anymore
my name sewn into the back
and everyone laughed
and no one would wear it
but i never asked them to.  it was my dress.
and it was a beautiful thing.

i woke up once
covered in flowers.
where on earth did they come from?
ah! they grew from my skin
and everyone awed
and everyone picked
a flower from me in the morning
and who could blame them?

I cried once.
that is entirely untrue
I've cried so many times i've lost count
the tears and my cheeks are inseperable
and everyone has seen
and everyone remembers
they've wondered how to respond
and nothing comes to mind.