Beautiful bedclothes
wrap me up warm
vanity mirror
shows where I’m torn
pictures of pain
stolen when born
blood on the bedclothes
cause me to mourn
Day turns to night
childless mother
weeps to forget
weeps to remember
bring me to morning
my son and my daughter
blood on the bedclothes
look for no other
Beautiful bedclothes
wrap me up please
body is aching
heart cannot breathe
cradle is empty
no mouth to feed
beautiful bedclothes
I surrender to thee
In the early hours of the day, a man of middle years trudged over rock and sand, a large bundle slung over his shoulder, sweat making lines through the dust on his face. As he approached a small rise, he noticed an older man sitting on the ground, drawing lines in the sand with the end of a short stick. This man looked up, and hailed the burden carrier with a raised hand and dry voice. Read the rest of this entry »
When I went to bed I think the house was in pretty good order. Wasn’t it? Shoes in the closet and wrappers in the trash. Only fresh food in the fridge.
And now. Upon waking, it seems as if some devilish brute elf was at work in the dark. You Must be kidding! Isn’t this just a bad dream? Oh, PUH-LEEESE! Somebody pinch me!
Dirty dishes overflow the sink, trying to escape the eventual drowning in hot soapy water. Fuzzy stuff and bits of leaf on the carpet. Ring around the tub along with dried toothpaste in the sink. Didn’t I JUST mop the kitchen floor? When did we put the jar of spaghetti sauce in the refrigerator? Surely not long ago enough to breed what is also in the jar. ENOUGH!
It is a scientifically proven fact that mess multiplies in the dark. In some cases, however, it happens so completely and so quickly that it can only be ascribed to the work of the DEVILISH BRUTE ELF.
Tonight I am setting out the motion activated cameras to try to catch this creature in the act. But first, where are the rubber gloves and disinfectant?!
I
If I wanted a husband I would marry someone who needs to be in charge.
But I don’t want someone who needs to be in charge -
I need someone to work with me in the ebb and flow, and
make things work when they’d rather not, and
bend for me.
Read the rest of this entry »
There she is. She sleeps. Reddish brown downy hair over wispy eyebrows. Her cheeks are round and pink. Angelina bee stung lips with two little points on the top part briefly to mime a tiny yawn. Her eyes are a little puffy but with a promise of being very large; they are long from side to side. Little popcorn nose.
Long slender fingers with long nails. Perhaps a pianist or flautist in bud stage. Little shell ears; reprieve from the famiy curse. Sweet little baby wrapped in flowered jammies and plush pink blankets.
She looks just like her mama.
Frankie Michael
Gregory
Gollum
Fuck It
Dig It
Missie
Max
Goldie
Bear
Sabo
Piggy
Oreo
Wolfie
Sam
Hannah
canned spinach
sauerkraut
tahini
liver
beets
instant potatoes
black strap molasses
raw oysters
pickled pigs feet
canned peas
powdered eggs
bacon that is not crisp
chicken fat
pickled baby corn
dried unsulphured apricots
root beer candy
tuna casserole
dark chocolate
black licorice
smelt
sardines
lard
spearmint gum
pickled daikon radish
twig tea
instant coffee
rhubarb
tongue
puffed rice cereal
rice milk
tomato soup
lima beans
caraway seeds
ubiquitous
driblet
goulash
apostasy
yammer
torpid
deanery
abracadabra
wattle
thitherward
varmint
spatula
slobber
perspicacity
grackle
punctilious
brain drain
yak
savvy
warble
capsicum
rasher
turpitude
chichi
tautology
absinthe
chartreuse
ungulate
pulchritude
sludge
Electric saw, drills, hammers. Conversation echoeing off stripped floors and unpainted walls. Sharp smell of fresh saw dust in the breeze. Late night bare light bulbs burning. Trash cans full of wood scraps and fast food wrappers. Red bull. Pepsi. Cold shrivelled dried fries.
Empty cans grouped in sticky clusters. Walkway with cleaned brushes drying in the morning sun. Paint roller the diameter of a half dollar on a wand six feet long. Taupe, deep red, lemon yellow, white and chrome.
Splintered wood, bent nails, mounds of dirt; new fence. Soiled rugs peeled and rolled; dumpster roiling.
“FOR RENT”
The green light of my new alarm clock
spreads, lapping at
the blackness of our room.
I am fidgeting, fluffing the pillow.
Sleep swims an elusive swell.
The lime-colored rays squirming from
those digital numbers
leech your cheeks, sagged with slumber.
You look sour,
painted that macabre green,
the lines of your face
blackened, carious.
Your arms drape like noodles
across your supine figure;
but for the hiss of breath,
an image of death.
I wish I’d opted for the red one.
