Samantha’s Daily Poem
Scavengers
Death offends me the same way every time
not the canyon of its finish
not the screaming quiet
not the outfit of flesh left behind
it is the way it doesn’t cooperate with time
that conveyor belt
that keeps on shoveling minutes
into our mouths
even though it is clear
we deserve a pause
at least
a few weeks to wedge
inside the memories
before they melt
but the sun and moon
circle like scavengers
pressing us onward
into the future
where we must walk
against our will
without you.
The blank face of the moon
Lately the stories heave
on the inside of my skin
so I turn off the radio
feeling guilty for not listening
to what others have to live
but the radio stays off
and there is dinner to make
which we eat
with our feet sticking
off the couch
while your dad sings Peace Train
and nobody notices
when I cry a little
staring back
at the blank face of the moon
wondering if it ever asks
why we are not them
why we got wrapped
in this safe little life.
Answers out of the sky
They found two new planets last week
mild as Washington in May
and older than us by a few billion years
all of which makes me quiet
and exhilarated at the same time
not that I think we are owed another colony
a landing pad for our waste
or even a fresh start
because I am not ready
to swallow the end
to our beginning
I just want to know
if they have wrestled answers
out of the sky
have they sorted out death
is tofu good or bad
should I let my son binge
on progress
and they say we will never know
because they are too many light years away
but I can’t help the gaping wonder
did they grow up rational
or raw.
A reminder to worship my beets
The seeds are all planted
plotting with each other
in their silos of earth
about how this year
they will put on such a show
that I won’t pull them distractedly
or forget to revere their drive
before stuffing my mouth
we will seduce her
they whisper
planning their purple headdresses
their thick red flesh
a hit of green so unspoiled
as to remind me
worship us
we are only disguised as food
we are the champions
at the end of an odyssey.
Boston
They keep saying
people with severed limbs
and I want to say
though it is a small point
in the wreckage of my thoughts
that they are not with those limbs
they are without
without the legs
that climbed stairs
ran races
bounced their babies
without the triumph they deserved
without the simplicity of tomorrow
without the trust that a sidewalk
won’t rupture and swallow them again
this sudden withoutness
it chews away at my throat
like it always does
making me want to dig my hands
into the air and push it all back
as though the present
is a landslide I can prevent
with the grit of my want
and the impossible blank
of the people whose faces will never return
their absence is the opposite of gone
they are all we can think about
so I do the only thing there is to do
I stitch my words deeper
into everyone I love
and I try to believe
my wishes can travel
to mend the ones who are broken.
