Emily and June

We were holding her then,

But nothing was holding her.

I saw the head bend to fit through the opening.

That's the way it had been engineered, but I never knew.

My mother had her left leg

I had the right, pushing against the bottom of her foot.

We were a doorway, the three of us,

Come through, now, come through.

I looked mostly at her face.

Even in her pain her brow was knowing.

And around her eyes there was a stillness,

There was something old in her, something sublime.

She bore down in the usual way and then it happened.

We saw who we instantly knew,

Our new girl and right away she was one of us.

Right away.

Stage Fright

There is a bird inside my chest.
A hawk in a parakeet cage.
He is trapped in there together with all the bird-related cliches and idioms ever invented.
He is broken into unnatural angles.
Beating, beating.
Railing against my rib cage.
Nothing will soothe him except his being obvious to everyone.
Look at these ratty feathers, these beady eyes.
Look at these ravaged wings and their reflex for flight
that has become only a painful scraping.

20 October 2011

I keep my tiny money in a big bank,
And I know there are people raving in the streets.
The big banks are greedy and evil.
They are ruining everything from balconies with monocles and cigars.
But I'm in love with the bank teller.
She is a young black girl that wears her hair like my grandmother did in the '60's.
Short in the back with an elegant, voluminous s w o o p on top.
She has a scar on her chest that I always think is a tiger's eye pendant.
And I stare at it unabashedly at first then raise my gaze apologetically to hers.
Her eyes are quiet, kind, and sad.
When she calls me by name I can feel my tongue filling up my mouth.
And the big banks of the world are ridiculous.