July 24: Poems

July 24, 2012 § 1 Comment

Today I sent a couple of poems to a literary magazine. The magazine deals with poetry of place, so I sent in two poems I wrote about places in Washington. I don’t expect much, as I’ve had my share of rejections, but it’s always exciting to send something out, and feel more like a poet than I usually do.
I am not posting the poems I submitted (I don’t think I am supposed to), but here are some that I wrote a few years ago, dedicated, loosely, to my firstborn:

Different dreams than at 20

To come to a playground early in the morning and see no one there,

no bullies going up the slides,

no pretty moms, sloppy moms, apolitical moms,

vigilant moms, negligent moms, screaming moms,

no rainbow-colored snacks, mini vans

(my heart used to be more open)

For J. to climb bars smoothly like an orangutan,

and be safe without a cocoon or a cord irreversibly tying us together

And for me to slip under the climbing structure,

lie in the shade and sleep a deep sleep

Or to have an infinite number of drawers in my house,

to store all the things I don’t need but can’t let go.

Who if not you

 I put the world in the oven and it shrunk and shrunk until it was big enough only for J. and me.

The next day D. came along and asked me to love him too, so I did.

The day after all my old friends showed up and I loved them for our past,

and then others came, and I let them all in, honored

for the pilgrimage ending at my door,

though they didn’t leave fruit for me or consider me holy.

Still, the world remained a little bigger than a chestnut,

and when we sat on a bus I couldn’t look anyone in the eye,

wondering who will love passionately every single human being in this world if not me,

but I couldn’t

(while gift wrapped packages kept arriving at my door, and the whole neighborhood smelled of ripe figs and I thought Why not?)

Apocalypse fiction

Some people are already happy

but do not live on any block

The world was invaded in 2038

hordes of Others marched on

taller than skyscrapers

Once having procreated

you commit to dread


it will end in a flash

or worse

and all future relations will be erased

or worse

it could be

mutants monsters Martians

an original disease

a handful remaining humans retreated to sewers

fighting to survive was worse than giving in and going under

In Hindu gardens certain deities copulate through all eternity and deny this future

Krishna especially keen to ensure all relatives of his 10,000 wives that

air raids sirens and severed limbs

and worse

reminiscent of London in 1942 (and worse) are not my son’s fate


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