One a Day in May: Spring Cleaning

[annaswirls]

May #27

The Minister’s Husband

Our minister’s husband is in hospice.
I dial Sunday’s phone
call for the musicians
call for the flowers
call for the woman who puts it all on paper.

Our minister’s husband is in hospice
so I take the pulpit
say the prayers
try to lead the people
from casserole and carpool.

We open our hymnals to number 90.
"Singing the Living Tradition"
where all the familiar Gods
have been changed to One
and he's changed to we.
We sing Whitman and Emerson,
cummings and Dickenson
accompanied by piano rainsprings
and fluted birdcalls. We sing
if I can help one fainting robin
back into his nest again
knowing there is no nest
there is no stopping this heart from breaking
yet still we sing as if we believe
that we do not live in vain.

They took the minister’s husband
into hospice Thursday morning.
We hold our own hands.

 

[annaswirls]

May #28

except on Christmas

Sometimes this is what you are given,
ten minutes alone while the boys laugh under the hose.
You pour a diet soda, read a few paragraphs
as sweat glues paint chips into creases
on the inside of your elbow. You
miss the cool springs of home.

Sometimes this is all you are given,
a few minutes to remember
how Uncle Charles left the farm to fight the war,
then left the farm to find his way, sending letters
with photos from the steps of Mayan temples,
from backs of elephants, from the edge of the volcano.
You remember how he always ended his letters
Keep the home fires burning.

But now Nana is alone in the farmhouse
with barely enough strength to strike a match.
And Uncle, we too have scattered!
Still we carry our own glowing sticks.
We hold high the embers like a runway, home.

 

[loststar]

day 25

my innocent secret taboo

you're cute
too cute
you're shy
too shy
I try not to lead you on
but the night doesn't care

I sit far away
yet you catch my eye
I fiddle with my wedding ring
but you misinterpret this thing

I laugh at his jokes
yet you do too
I sit too close to her
yet this doesn't bother you

drinks come
and go
and come
and go

You catch me as I examine your form
the smile I try to resist
comes to my lips
you smile too

Your hand is in mine
as I release the days tension
I hear the standard comments
and keep up with conversation
but things have changed

you stand next to me as we leave
I lean into you
as the group stands there
discussing what to do

to a house we retreat
unfamiliar steps beneath my feet
our group gathers round
and we all make the conversation sound

I sit at your feet
yet you are the one graveling for me
I can pretend it is innocent
some of that is true
my lips never graced you
my hands never sought
yet I did not push you away
and just a little too close did you stay

I liked it so
I would like to say I didn't know
but I cant
for my power is my weakness
I need you to be drawn to me
for our minds to conspire could never be

 

[unpredictablebijou]

except on Christmas


Sometimes this is what you are given,
ten minutes alone while the boys laugh under the hose.
You pour a diet soda, read a few paragraphs
as sweat glues paint chips into creases
of the inside of your elbow.

Sometimes this is all you are given
a few minutes to remember Uncle Charles,
how he left the farm to fight the war,
make his way. Remember letters
with foreign stamps
and photos from Mayan temples
backs of elephants, volcano edges.
He always ended his letters
keep the home fires burning.

But Nana is alone in the farmhouse
with just enough strength to strike a match. Scattered,
still we each carry our own stick that glows.
We hold high the embers like a runway.

Anna, this is stellar. One confusion - in line five, the two 'of's - is one of them a typo for 'on'? Other than that I can't find a single word out of place.

bj

 

[loststar]

day 26

pus pours from the wound I want to hide
for it is not pride that wishes to conceal it so
it is for you, to relieve you of the burden
of pity, pain, and wonder
and part of it is me
remembering whom I used to be

 

[unpredictablebijou]

May #29

Magnificat

I am the fortunate
mortal lover of gods.
I know that I am doomed, that I
will someday see the true face of Zeus
and burst into flame
or wave with the narcissus at the water's edge
or shrink and become a cricket
immortal but helpless. I have read
the stories. I know the consequences.

The stories are wrong: the gods use no force.
They offer us a choice to yield,
or to escape to trees or constellations.
They do not rape
but only, irresistibly, seduce.
My thighs opened wide
to that shower of gold.

Now I am
snake-charmed, the winged serpent
in my spine, the eye
in my forehead, and I have the honor
of receiving the rage
of ages.

Someday I will open that particular locked door
or ask the wrong favor, and I will transform
to ash, in an instant. I know this.
I am willing
to burn in ecstasy, to go down
in flames.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

upon examination, I find I missed #27

Toy

She seems
to reach toward the red
brocade
smooth across her palm,
long limbs made longer
by the stretch.

Burgundy
is excellent against white
you think, as the bridge
of her spine
sways, suspended.

Wings of bone spread
under your thumbs,
your tongue opens
a salt blossom

she cannot move
but sweetly, she tries
and tries.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

May #30

Hum

Bound with petals in our
two-fleshed heartbeat
we chant petitions
to the bone of moon
over the blue fields

Your tongue vibrates the bell
and trembles a fingertip
against the parting, draws
a taste from the waves.

within this bright task
red song blossoms and you
draw me open, arrow through

Serpent, singular cry
you widen me in pressed descant
and our tones helix to silver
blessing the hungry core,
stuttering with wings.

Our chant rocks and comes undone
between voices of fathoms
plainsong reddens my throat
your solid tone shivers itself forward
you are a hum, a bow stroke

our voices join
to moan and coil round the thick sweet sun
we sing tandem on the shaft
round the fleshleap of the voice
Music and red leaves
hum under your palm

our unison
cross and pitch draws me open
and I come undone round your hand.
Our bones roll clear,
tail to mouth, four wings
feathered with the dark harsh moan.

You are a smoke-slick shape
invading the candy mouth of the flower
My salt window and the standing stone
turn circles and you
are a new drum and I
am a sugar descant

our treading hands
thunder and divide
and we find bright songs
under each other's tongues

 

[annaswirls]

May #29

It is not tortoise shell

It is not tortoise shell,
this comb I hold
motionless in the air
above my crooked part.

Paralyzed, I forget for a moment
you are gone, that I am
woman without reason
to comb tangles from her hair.

 

[annaswirls]

Anna, this is stellar. One confusion - in line five, the two 'of's - is one of them a typo for 'on'? Other than that I can't find a single word out of place.

bj

Thanks! I will fix er up promptly, I appreciate your eye and for taking the time to point it out.

J

 

[unpredictablebijou]

May #31

Cana

I come to you with the flood
still covering me, with no place to send
this angry river

you bring me simplicity
mouth and rose
smooth boat of heaven

a sting of my mouth
can bring the contrary and smooth it back
with a flat hand
I take the edges off
and carve you down to yes and no

I am the black gate
between forget and finding, rhythmic
within each beat
I flake the shell from you

I heat you up like glass
you wall for my fist
you hole to press full of my eye
I slide my beating insistence
my whole thick life inside you
and you shift
to liquid in the beating heart

This is your pin and shove
as I sink like teeth
and the first
part of my red rage
my disaster
transforms you

you are the only vision
the icon to curse and bless with yes
the cup that holds my rage till it tips
this stormy water, this spice transformed
my helpless poison turned to wine.

 

[annaswirls]

May #30

Cut from roots

I consider removing
the clear plastic sleeve
slid over the bent stem
of my Gerbera Daisy.

Who dares force
our heavy heads
into a chin-up posture?

I lower the noose,
we lower our heads,
rest.

 

[annaswirls]

May #31

Time Stutters


Drive down to the end of the circle,
to the end of the circle.
You will know it is us
by the color of the paint
at the end of the drive,
by the color of the paint
that frames our windows,
coats our door.
You will know it is us
just drive to the end of the circle.

We wrap it in foil.
We hold it at arms length
at the end of the stick.
We turn our eyes from the smoke
and the breeze
and the heat.

You will not find us
outside the color of our skin
or the color of our eyes
or the color of our language,
it is always one us or another.

Just poke it with a stick
and if its done turn it over
turn it over
if it is done.

Just drive it down
to the end of the circle
you will know it is us,
we still carry childhood photographs
under fingernails.

We still remember our secret handshake laughter
and that James Polk election jingle.
We still remember Liz, queen
of elementary school bees
and red planets dressed in paper.

You will know it is us
someone
will tell you
it is us.

 

[annaswirls]

praise the lord and pass the peas!

 

[annaswirls]

Congratulations unpredictablebijou for getting all 31 days! You were steadfast and consistent and helpful. Thank you!

Loststar, congratulations to you as well!

All 3 boys are home all day now, so I will be disappearing again....into the wind, the pumpkin plants growing in our backyard, the kitchen, back into the inspiration

I also found out what it takes to become certified to teach in TX. I have to study for, and pass four exams! So it is back to the books to dust off my brains.

Thanks for playing along!

 

[loststar]

day 27

the blood is seeping into the sheets
spreading slowly from the wound
the sprit is tugging at the bonds
the mind is screaming
the soul is weeping

the blood is dripping on to the floor
flowing till it hits the rug
the body is letting go
the pain has taken over
the resolve stretched thin

the blood found the crack in the floor
falling away, down below
the pride is shattered
confidence taking its leave
still the mind is screaming
the soul is weeping

 

[loststar]

day 28

miserable bored and lonely
never a good combination
I am envious
of the past
of you
of her

how I hate you both
for not understanding
for not accepting
for not acknowledging

"its not up to you"
"you have nothing to do with it"
"Its not your place"

I am dried up,
chewed up
spit out
are you all done with the taste of me

you still crave me
you are feeling the pain of my absence
you curse your weakness
curse what you cant understand as love

she still teases me so
letting me in as far as innocence allows
still depending on me
not admitting any deeper love

I am here
desperate for what once was
I am picked at
feeling the joy of rapture
at your sharp tugs

I love you both
I hate you both

pretending you don't want me
me pretending I don't want you
when all of us deep down know that it isn't true