poems

Bumps in the night

Breath slammed out
of gut and lungs burned
out by tires tearing
the pavement by weight
of car on flesh and I swear
he was saved only by boozy
limberness not by god
because they stopped still
to kick him and say he had it
coming to him damn rat but still
I didn't want him to be dead
in front of my house twisted
crumpled body mashed up against
the curb and no one answering
phones no police no ambulance
just him finally moaning
himself alive and neighbors
hiding behind doors in the night
because the car keeps circling
around and we don't know whose
side we're on or somewhere
in between in a place where
you do things on your own
there is no help
and the guy levitates dangled
from threads wobbling down the street
and someone scrapes him up hides
him behind a door and my husband
has a gun it turns out
in a plastic bag and paces
till 3 a.m. peering out windows
watching headlights circling
cars and bumps in the night

March 15, 2010


My mind

I create
a plateful of food
the baby spits out,
sputtering ground beef
and mushrooms all over
his shoes, and my mind
is always with the canvas
strung taut against the wall
of my studio, some pencil
marks outlining an eagle
red oxide beak and buff
wash scrubbed on hastily
and the laundry line
is strung taut with
clean little socks
tiptoeing over what
I create

March 8, 2010