Poem for Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Apple Skins

Granny told Willy she’d check the pickins
for worms and other crud if he’d
wash and dry them. Willy snatched a
damp rag and said he’d be obliged.
Granny sat in the afternoon

sun passing most of the lushgreen
apples to Willy and casting the badly
bruised ones aside like the Sodomites
she would laugh but Willy never got
that reference once throughout his
childhood. When it got too torrid

they each grabbed a wooden bucket
loaded with the fruit so full they
regurgitated an apple here and there
on the bumpier parts of the grass. Willy
hated those darn buckets ‘cause he’d

always get splinters in his thumbs and
Granny was too rough with the tweezers.
So they plopped their buckets on
the kitchen table with watery lips and
empty bellies. Willy reached in his
pocket for his maroon Swiss Army knife

but Granny shook her head no. She
told him he couldn’t peel them
apples ‘cause he’d toss out the skins and
the skins were the healthiest part
since they were chock-full of vitamins.

Willy groaned and mumbled shucks the
skins tasted like rubber so he wasn’t
gonna eat them but Granny could
have at it if she wanted. Then Granny let
out the strangest chuckle and swept
the skins off the edge of the spotless

oak into her wrinkled and calloused
palm. She said alright Willy but be careful
when you make a deal with the Devil
‘cause sometimes you gotta pay up
double. Willy rolled his big blue eyes and
stood up to leave the kitchen. He

wasn’t even hungry after all. Before Willy
stepped into the hallway Granny commanded
him to hand over his knife and he’d
get it back after supper. Then it got so quiet
the ceiling fan whirred and bellowed
like a police siren.

Poem for Monday, January 30, 2012

Happenings

Icicles are hanging from my drying
jeans dripping the color of denim
the dog the poor restless dog is
barking puffs of wintercold air I
can see them drifting then dying
anyone can.

“Be quiet” I’m scolding
that orange-bellied moon has
nothing better to do than gawk
giggle at me through the cracks.

The sky? well it’s holding its
breath somewhere between baby
blue and lights out.

Poem for Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Death Dream

you assured me

the hurt would come
in small circles over
different parts
of my body
not in one malicious
attack

i wept the same
as when
you gave me life
head first

Poem for Monday, December 26, 2011

Sohbet

The universe is tangled in your hair.

I try to unravel it with sweaty
fingers. A gray silence crept in awhile
ago and it is draped over us. We
breathe it in but we are having

a supreme conversation. Our eyes
discuss politics in intervals of blue
and black. Your leg tells mine its
hairs tickle. Hands swap electrons
while foreheads whisper secrets

and so forth. We must never stop
this, I say for real, as your perfume
escapes up my nostrils. Honeysuckle.
You wince, thinking I will sneeze.

Your hair lies knotless on the
pillow now. Nothing is a mystery
anymore and I am in love with your
rhetoric. A truck backfires

outside. A baby robin chirps for its
breakfast. When it grows dark again
the half-naked moon will look like
butter. We will talk about it.

Poem for Thursday, August 11, 2011

Mea Culpa

I told you when you entered
the kingdom of heaven
Michael and the rest
of the angels would serenade
you, would pluck
crystal harps

that can stop your heart

for the second time.

I told you you wouldn't
go blind from the
celestial light

because you should be
used to our earthly sun
glowing all around you

jealously, orbiting you with
his head bowed to your
tan feet.

I told you
you won't bleed there
and if you do

it will be gold, coagulate and
I will suture your wound
with a righteous kiss,

I will kiss you
in heaven.

But how was I to know
you'd be handed
a blemished robe,
a bag of bones?

How was I to know
you'd be there
before me,
my lips light years
below you
(chapped and quivering)?

Poem for Sunday, June 6, 2010

We Brought the Rain

to Mongolia, which
means good luck from G.K.
so
the olive hills of Zuunmod
will be a little
greener

Poem for Monday, May 31, 2010

I Prayed for You

last night

but a number of things prevented
you from seeing it: partitions of
cigarette smoke, a lack of decent
street lights

your cataracts, and because
I did it in my mind.

What's amazing is how
you can go eons without a
single divine thought, but
"Dear God" is

the most
abused
utterance
ever.

I prayed for you, prayed
that you would keep
outliving me

(disclaimer:
not my will, but thine)

after I die
at age, say, 100.