The curious appeal of futile anticipation
I don’t know when I will stop
expecting a letter
instead of all these bills
and flyers for pizza and men
who wash windows in kilts
there is no one in particular
I think might be writing me
but I cannot help
the hopefulness
the unreasonable optimism
that the clang of the mailbox
means somebody held me in the nest
of their thoughts
so old-fashioned
like milk in glass bottles
like handkerchiefs
one day I will try to explain to my son
the appeal of anticipation
in an instant world
that there is sweetness
in the wait.
Boing boing
It’s not a class
it’s a shuffling
of the bits of you
so that mother and wife
boss and daughter
are eclipsed by the euphoria
in your elbows
your bare feet move across the floor
like a stomping beast
the music thumps
somebody bellows
you weren’t expecting it
the innocence of that sound
it rips the moment
and the words pour in
this is totally nutbar
you run a company
you wear hot rollers
you are obsessed with office supplies
the bellowing again
it was you
you can tell by the crunch in your cheeks
how hard
you are smiling
you jump up and down
this is boing boing
your inhibitions
don’t stand
a chance.
The heat of so much newness
You lay beside me in the dark
practicing all your new words
rolling them around in your mouth
like candies
whispering
laughing
at the way
somehow
nine sounds like granny
when you say it
I stayed quiet
curled up next to the heat of you
they say kids are warmer than us
because of all the running around
but I think it’s the brain
boiling over
trying on
everything
it sees.
I don’t cry at funerals
The despair clogs
in my head
like mud
I want to crumble
but instead
I stand
I resort to words
clumsy and sharp
the same small sack of words everyone uses
because there is nothing right to say
I long for the language of tears
a sinking face that says
you have too much ache
let me take some
I feel it too
you are not alone
but it is as though I am wearing
an emotional life-jacket
I cannot seem to drown
I look quiet
but inside I am thrashing
please know
that some of us cry backwards
our insides
soaked
with grief.
The alarming discernment of babies
Your friend’s baby cries when you try to hold her
and it is as though she has unzipped you
with those tiny hands
laid out your bones
and announced to everyone
see
there are secrets in her
I can smell them
later
she holds her arms out
wanting you
again and again
laughing that new laugh
that makes everyone else laugh
and it is as though she has hoisted you up
with those tiny hands
for everyone to see
here
is a magic girl
bright and true.
