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“And when adulthood fails you,
you can still summon the memory of the black swan on the pond
of your childhood, the rye bread with peanut butter and bananas
your grandmother gave you while the rest of the family slept.
There is the voice you can still summon at will, like your mother's,
it will always whisper, you can't have it all,
but there is this.”
― Bite Every Sorrow: Poems
you can still summon the memory of the black swan on the pond
of your childhood, the rye bread with peanut butter and bananas
your grandmother gave you while the rest of the family slept.
There is the voice you can still summon at will, like your mother's,
it will always whisper, you can't have it all,
but there is this.”
― Bite Every Sorrow: Poems
“Top Dog"
If I could, I would take your grief, dig it up
out of the horseradish field and grate it into something red and hot
to sauce the shellfish. I would take the lock of hair you put in the locket and carry it in my hand, I would make the light strike everything
the way it hit the Bay Bridge, turning the ironwork at sunset into waffles.
If I could, I would blow your socks off, they would travel far, always in unison,
past the dead men running, past the cranes standing in snow,
beyond the roads we rode, so small in our little car, it was like riding in a miner's helmet. If I could I would make everyone vote and call their public servants to say, “No one was meant for this.”
I would go back to the afternoon we made love in the tall grass under the full sun not far from the ravine where the old owner had flung hundreds of mink cages.
I would memorize gateways to the afterworld, the electric third rail,
the blond braid our girl has hanging down her back,
the black guppy we killed at our friends’ when we unplugged the bubbler and the fish floated to the top, one eye up at the ceiling, the other
at the blue gravel on the bottom of the tank.
I would beg an audience with Sister Lucia, the last living of the children
visited by Our Lady of Fatima, I would ask her about the weight of secrets, if they let her sleep or if she woke at night with a body on her body,
if the body said, “Let's play top dog, first I'll lie on you, then you lie on me.”
I would ask how she lived with revelation, the normal state of affairs amplified beyond God, bumped up to the Virgin Mother, who no doubt knew a few things, passed them on, quietly, and I would ask Lucia how she lived with knowing,
how she could keep it under her hat, under wraps, button up, zip her lip,
play it close to the vest, never telling, never using truth as a weapon.”
― Bite Every Sorrow: Poems
If I could, I would take your grief, dig it up
out of the horseradish field and grate it into something red and hot
to sauce the shellfish. I would take the lock of hair you put in the locket and carry it in my hand, I would make the light strike everything
the way it hit the Bay Bridge, turning the ironwork at sunset into waffles.
If I could, I would blow your socks off, they would travel far, always in unison,
past the dead men running, past the cranes standing in snow,
beyond the roads we rode, so small in our little car, it was like riding in a miner's helmet. If I could I would make everyone vote and call their public servants to say, “No one was meant for this.”
I would go back to the afternoon we made love in the tall grass under the full sun not far from the ravine where the old owner had flung hundreds of mink cages.
I would memorize gateways to the afterworld, the electric third rail,
the blond braid our girl has hanging down her back,
the black guppy we killed at our friends’ when we unplugged the bubbler and the fish floated to the top, one eye up at the ceiling, the other
at the blue gravel on the bottom of the tank.
I would beg an audience with Sister Lucia, the last living of the children
visited by Our Lady of Fatima, I would ask her about the weight of secrets, if they let her sleep or if she woke at night with a body on her body,
if the body said, “Let's play top dog, first I'll lie on you, then you lie on me.”
I would ask how she lived with revelation, the normal state of affairs amplified beyond God, bumped up to the Virgin Mother, who no doubt knew a few things, passed them on, quietly, and I would ask Lucia how she lived with knowing,
how she could keep it under her hat, under wraps, button up, zip her lip,
play it close to the vest, never telling, never using truth as a weapon.”
― Bite Every Sorrow: Poems
