Tag Archives: Issue 13

Antartica

CHARACTERS:

PATTY – Female, a faded beauty.
JOHN   – Male, her husband.
POSTMAN  – Male.  Early 20’s, careworn yet idealistic.

SETTING:
A Desert.  Nothing but sand.

 

 

JOHN and PATTY sit on lawn chairs, fanning themselves.

 

PATTY

It’s hot.

JOHN

Mm.

PATTY

Do you remember when we first came here?

JOHN

Mm.

PATTY

We used to dance and laugh and splash around in the …

(sees he is not listening)

… box of knives.

JOHN

Mm.

PATTY

You’re not listening.

JOHN

Mm.

PATTY

John!!

JOHN

Mm?

PATTY

It’s hot.

JOHN

Plenty of people would kill for heat.

PATTY

I know that – I know – it’s just –

JOHN

Blankets are expensive.

PATTY

Yes, John, but –

JOHN

Think of the money –

PATTY

Yes, John, I know, but –

JOHN

It doesn’t cost anything to remove your clothes.

PATTY

Your dignity, perhaps.

JOHN

Mm.

PATTY

John?

JOHN

Mm?

PATTY

Will you dance with me?

JOHN

It’s too hot.

 

The POSTMAN enters.

PATTY

Oh look, the postman has arrived!

JOHN

More bills.

PATTY

Hello Postman!

POSTMAN

Hello.

JOHN

We don’t want any bills.

PATTY

Any news?

POSTMAN

Nothing flashy.  You?

JOHN

She’s hot.

PATTY (to Postman)

No?

POSTMAN

(to Patty) No.
(to John)  I’m sorry to hear that.

JOHN

It’s nothing new.

PATTY

No news at all?

POSTMAN

(agreeing with John) No.

(to Patty) I have the latest weather if you’re interested.

PATTY

Yes, yes, anything – what is it?

POSTMAN

It’s hot.

PATTY

Ah.

POSTMAN

I’m sorry I was delayed.

PATTY

No worries, Postman.  We weren’t really waiting for you.

JOHN

Or your bills.

POSTMAN

I should have been here sooner but – the sun – the sun was so bright that I squinted.  I was blind for a moment and I – I dropped my bag – a postman never drops his bag – but I did, I dropped it down and took off my shirt because it seemed that I should – and just then in the squinted light – I saw her – Love. I cried suddenly; softly, suddenly.  Then the Postmaster yelled, “back to work!” And I begged Love not to leave my side – “Back to work!” he yelled once more – fiercer than thunder, “Back to work!”  Back.  Back.  Back–back-back and I knew I’d never see it again – something so perfect – “No!” I yelled – “Don’t leave me!” I wailed – “You have no idea what it is to always be giving.  Passing out, handing on, dropping off, turning over, sending out, giving – giving – giving and never once having something stay behind in my sack for me.  Never once a folded slip of paper bearing the shy sweet letters of my name.  And here you are – Those who have it, rarely see it and those who don’t are – “Back to work!”  And I knew then I’d lost her – “back to work!” – and somewhere the oceans dried up and somewhere the heat rose and somewhere I – “back to work!” – I – “Back to work!  Back to work!  Back to -” …  went back to work.

PATTY

Mm.  Any mail for us, Postman?

JOHN

We don’t want the bills.

POSTMAN

No bills, today, just a package.

 

The Postman hands a package to Patty.

PATTY

A package?

JOHN

What sort of a package?

PATTY

Who’s it from?

JOHN

What does the return address say?

PATTY

It says –

JOHN

Here, give it here –

PATTY

No, it’s a package for me – the postman gave it to me!  It’s says right here: to Patty –

JOHN

And John – aha! – see?  It says clearly “to Patty and John.”

PATTY

The return address – what’s it say?

JOHN

Antarctica.

PATTY

… Antarctica.

Pause.

Who do we know in Antarctica?

JOHN

Who cares, open the package.

POSTMAN

I’m leaving now.

JOHN

Open it!  Open it!

POSTMAN

Goodbye.

The postman leaves.

John and Patty comically wrestle open the package underneath the following dialogue.

JOHN

I once had an aunt with a fur coat, maybe it’s from her –

PATTY

Or the pen pal from beyond and we never found out where he came from –

JOHN

Those letters stopped coming years ago – careful, you’re ripping it –

PATTY

Yes but this – I am not! You’re the one who’s – this might be the start of a new correspondence – You’re about to –

JOHN

I’ve got it – !

PATTY

I’ve got it!

Rip!  A single ICE CUBE falls from the package and lands on the sand.  It catches

the light, dazzling like a cheap ring.

Pause.

PATTY

What is it?

JOHN

Some sort of light.

PATTY

It looks like a diamond.

JOHN

It’s not a diamond – diamonds don’t sweat.

PATTY

Look!  Look!  Yes, little beads of sweat are building up on its – do you think it’s alive?

JOHN

Nonsense, it couldn’t breathe in the package.

PATTY

Touch it.  See if it moves.

JOHN

No.  It won’t want to move, it’s too hot, look – it’s sweating.

PATTY

Who would send us something so lovely?

JOHN

Someone who loves us.

PATTY

Who loves us?

JOHN

We should – yes – we should put it somewhere.

PATTY

Where?

JOHN

I don’t know.  But we shouldn’t leave it here – someone will take it. Greedy, greedy – Put it in your pocket.

PATTY

No, I want to look at it.

JOHN

We need to hide it –

PATTY

I want to see it –

JOHN (reaching for the ice cube)

It can’t be seen, we’ve got to – ow!

PATTY

What?

JOHN

It burned me!

PATTY

It’s hot?

JOHN

It’s – no, it’s not hot, but . . . it burned my skin.

PATTY

Perhaps it’s magic.

JOHN

No, it’s angry – it’s sweating and it wants to be left alone –

PATTY

John –

JOHN

It doesn’t want to be touched or spoken to or dealt with, it’s hot, in this heat, it’s so hot – it wants to go back where it came from – it’s been tricked and it’s burning with an anger so hot –

PATTY

(overlapping slightly with John’s previous line)

John – John, no John, look.  It’s not sweat.

JOHN

What?

PATTY

It’s tears.  The rock is crying.  Look, it’s smaller somehow – it’s shrunk in sadness – so many tears – they’re – draining it.  Look how it’s shrinking.

JOHN

A flood of tears.

PATTY

It wants to go.  It wants to go back.

JOHN

It hates the heat.

PATTY

It hates us.

JOHN

How can it hate us?

PATTY

I hate us.

JOHN

. . . Patty?

A tear falls from Patty’s eye.

PATTY

Oh god, John . . . I’m shrinking.

JOHN

Patty?

PATTY

Look John – it’s almost gone now: it’s shrunk so much – and now me – I’m leaking, too.

JOHN

No, Patty.

PATTY

I’m vanishing.

Tears now dripping from Patty’s eyes.

JOHN

No, Patty, no –

PATTY

I want to go, I want to go back.

JOHN

Back to what?

PATTY

I must have come here in a package – I don’t belong here, John, some- one’s sent me here and I don’t belong and now I’m shrinking in sadness.

JOHN

No, Patty, no Patty, no Patty no –

PATTY

Who sent me here John – who sent me here to –

JOHN

Patty no, no Patty no –

PATTY

This heat.  This stifling, stifling heat.

JOHN

Patty.

PATTY

Look it’s gone!  The sand around it’s now muddy like a memory and … it’s gone.

JOHN

Don’t go, Patty.

A steady stream of tears now from Patty’s eyes.

PATTY

I can’t help it John – it’s from inside me.  My sadness.  I’m shrinking.

JOHN

Patty!  Patty, no!  Don’t Patty!  Don’t Patty!  No!

PATTY

John?

JOHN

I love you.

PATTY

… John?

(Patty touches her eyes.  No tears.)

It’s stopped.

Patty and John engage eyes perhaps for the first time.

The sun melts into the horizon.

The Bee That Declared a War

CHARACTERS

Tiffany Yamón Upchurch                 23 Years Old. Black.

Joshua Aaron Rosenberg                 27 Years Old. White.

Time

December 2015, Around Midnight

Setting and Context

“The Rochester” is based on a real apartment complex in St. Louis, Missouri. Between late 2015 and early 2016, ownership of “The Rochester” changed hands. During the transition, many members of the primarily black staff were laid off, or had their pay reduced in an effort to convince them to leave voluntarily. Most of the newly created vacancies were filled by white men and women associated with the new corporate ownership.
The residents barely noticed.

Note on Text: A slash ( / ) employed in the midst of dialogue is meant to indicate an overlap in speech. The successive character’s line of dialogue begins at this moment.

 

“The bees had declared a war,

The sky wasn’t big enough for them all…”

– Of Monsters and Men, Dirty Paws

 

December 2015.  St. Louis, Missouri. Midnight. The front hall lobby of The Rochester, a large, upscale apartment complex. The lobby’s décor has a warm, mahogany feel.  Stage right is the front doors leading into the street. Stage left is an elevator which takes residents up to their units.  Center stage is the doorman’s desk, facing the audience. It supports a computer (which displays black and white security footage) and a sign-in registry. The lobby is decorated festively, in anticipation of the holidays. A large, vibrant Christmas tree sits near the front doors. A small menorah and Kinara sit on a side table. YAMÓN, 23, is behind the desk, quietly reading. A few moments pass before she notices something in the security footage, which causes her to jump a bit. She reaches into one of the desk’s drawers, pulls out a turquoise envelope, and places it on the center of the desk. JOSH enters, wearing a large winter jacket and carrying an overstuffed backpack. He immediately unzips his coat, revealing blue scrubs underneath. He’s also wearing a silver Star of David necklace around his neck, which is made noticeable when it frequently catches the light. YAMÓN beams at him. JOSH barely notices at first.

 

YAMÓN

(Laughing) You look cold!

JOSH

Jesus. It’s insane out there!

YAMÓN

Right?!?

(JOSH catches YAMÓN’s gaze)

JOSH

You staying warm, Yamón?

YAMÓN

Yeah, it’s alright…. It’s pretty quiet in here. Door doesn’t open and close as much this late.

JOSH

(Smiling) Sorry about that!

YAMÓN

About what? How else would you get in?

(JOSH crosses over to the desk to sign the registry.
YAMÓN stares expectedly at the card. JOSH doesn’t notice.)

JOSH

(Staring at the registry) Whatcha readin’ tonight?

YAMÓN

Oh, this? (She glances at her book’s cover) It’s “The Shame of the Nation”/ by Jonathan Kozol.

JOSH

Oh yeah! I know that one. That’s… right right! That’s Kozol’s book.

YAMÓN

Yeah. It’s really good.

JOSH

(Looking up, smiling) What happened to (flamboyant:) Living for Love and Dying for Loyalty?

YAMÓN

Hey now! Don’t make fun of/…

JOSH

(Smirking) The literary and rhetorical power of Mz. Lady P? I would never!

YAMÓN

I mean, I’m still reading that one, but one of the other residents has been on me… telling me to read this, and she sort of, well, thrust it at me the other day.

JOSH

Ha! Who was it?

YAMÓN

Marissa(?), I think.

JOSH

Oh yeah. She’s kinda pushy like that…

YAMÓN

But it’s mind blowing. Seriously!

JOSH

Yeah! It’s been a while since I read it, but I remember!

(The two smile at each other. Beat. JOSH glances over at the Christmas tree)

Oh hey! Look who’s back!

YAMÓN

Yeah, we set her up earlier tonight.

JOSH

That was so, like, asinine that they wouldn’t let you put the tree up last year.

YAMÓN

Yeah, I mean, it’s whatever, but I’m glad we got it back. Cheers everyone up.

JOSH

It must be the, uh, the new management, right? (Beat)

YAMÓN

(Uncomfortable) Yeah. I guess they don’t care as much…

JOSH

(Noticing the side table) And there’s a menorah over there too. And a—oh what’s it called—for Kwanza. So everybody’s happy, right?

YAMÓN

Yeah. I mean, I guess.

JOSH

I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have the tree last year. I love it and I/ don’t even celebrate…

YAMÓN

Yeah, I think it was that letter they got from that resident who was offended/…

JOSH

Oh right… No, I’m sorry. That’s just stupid. Like, the whole Starbucks red cup debacle that’s dominating the news? Like, it’s just a bunch of people getting all assholier-than-thou over a great big nothing and ruining it for everyone. (Beat)
Ah well. What can you do? Sorry for the rant. (Beat) Anyway, I should probably head up. I’m wiped out…

(JOSH walks over to the elevators. YAMÓN looks frantically at the card.
JOSH pushes a button. YAMÓN
finally holds up the card.)

YAMÓN

Happy birthday!

(JOSH looks back. He possibly blushes)

JOSH

What? How did you…? I can’t believe you knew!

(He walks over and takes the card)

YAMÓN

Yeah, I mean. Facebook.

JOSH

(Begins opening the card) Oh yeah. But still. This is so nice of you! (Pause) Oh. Uh. Should I open it now or…?

YAMÓN

Yeah yeah! Open it.

(The elevator door dings and slides open. JOSH pulls that card out.
It visibly has Christian imagery on the front. The elevator door dings and slides closed.)

JOSH

(Reading aloud under his breath:) “Dear Josh, May your coming year be filled with endless happiness and the light of our Lord and Savior J—”
(Looking up at YAMÓN) Oh. Um.

(JOSH fiddles with his Star of David necklace. YAMÓN stares at him expectedly, unfazed.
JOSH almost says something, but decides against it.
He quickly reads the rest of the card to himself and looks up.)

This was so nice of you. Thank you!

YAMÓN

Yeah, it’s nothing.

(JOSH glances at the card’s signature)

JOSH

Wait. Your first name is “Tiffany?” I thought it was… yeah, o-on Facebook too it’s/ “Yamón.”

YAMÓN

Yeah, I don’t like “Tiffany” all that much. Yamón’s a family name so that’s just what I go by.

JOSH

No kidding! That’s really cool.

YAMÓN

Really? Thanks. I never thought of it as “cool”…

JOSH

Yeah. (Beat – Josh glances at his watch) Oh man, it. is. late. indeed. I really better get upstairs.

YAMÓN

Yeah. No worries. Goodnight!

(JOSH walks over and pushes the elevator button again.
YAMÓN fidgets a bit, uncomfortably.
JOSH, staring at the elevators, doesn’t notice.)

JOSH

Geez, you’d think since the elevator was, like, just here… it’d open back up super quickly or something.

(YAMÓN wrestles with wanting to say something. Finally:)

YAMÓN

Josh, I think I’m gonna get fired.

(Beat)

JOSH

What?

(The elevator door dings and slides open)

Why?

YAMÓN

New management is tossing everyone.

JOSH

Yeah, but you’re probably gonna be okay…

YAMÓN

They fired Tyrone this morning.

(The elevator door dings and slides closed)

JOSH

What?!? (YAMÓN doesn’t respond) No. Everybody loves Tyrone. He’s been the porter here for… for…

YAMÓN (Overlap)

Fifteen years.

JOSH (Overlap)

Everybody loves Tyrone. It isn’t The Rochester without him.

YAMÓN

Yeah, well. Now it is.

JOSH

Did they say why?

YAMÓN

His girlfriend showed up. Apparently they had an argument in the lobby…

JOSH

So?

YAMÓN

I think they were looking for a reason.

(Beat. JOSH takes this in.)

JOSH

That’s nuts.

YAMÓN

Yeah.

JOSH

But you’ll be fine. Everybody loves you.

YAMÓN

That’s what you said about Tyrone. Twice. (Beat) Stacy told me she wants to meet with me in the morning. They saw I was gone all last week.

JOSH

Wait… but wasn’t that because you were looking after your mom?

YAMÓN

Yeah. But I missed a whole week so…

JOSH

(Putting his hand on his forehead) No. There’s no way—. You’ll be fine. I gotta believe that…

YAMÓN

Yeah. Um. (Beat) I was kinda hoping you could do me a favor…?

JOSH

Of course! Anything!

YAMÓN

I was wondering if you could maybe talk to Stacy for me(?). Tomorrow. Maybe talk me up or something…?

(Beat)

JOSH

Oh. (Long pause)
Um.

YAMÓN

What?

JOSH

It’s just. I’m never here during the day.

YAMÓN

What?

JOSH

Yeah, I’m at the hospital… like, all the time. I’ll be gone way before the office opens and back, y’know, around midnight. Like usual.

YAMÓN

You can’t give the front office a call or something?

JOSH

I mean… we don’t usually have time to make personal calls. I’m like, running from patient to patient to… (He trails off)

YAMÓN

But, I mean… when do you drop off the rent?

JOSH

(Making a sliding motion with his hands) I usually just slide it under the front office door.

YAMÓN

(Mirroring motion) So maybe you could just slide a note or something in tomorrow morning…? (YAMÓN notices JOSH’s discomfort and stops speaking.)

JOSH

Listen. I mean. It’s new management and they barely know me. Like, what’s my word good for?

YAMÓN (overlap)

Probably a lot.

JOSH

And I don’t want to be “that guy,” y’know? The uppity resident causing trouble? Before they’ve even met me? Next thing you know, I’ll be sitting with a clogged toilet or something for weeks before somebody… um.

YAMÓN (Overlap)

I don’t understand.

JOSH

I just want to quietly go about my business, y’know? (Silence) I just make it a practice not to get involved…

(Beat)

I don’t know. What if there was like, this totally valid policy for taking time off and you just sort of…

(Beat)

…Didn’t follow it?

(YAMÓN is silent)

What I mean to say is, I’m probably not the right person/ to…

YAMÓN

(Quiet) I bring you a bagel every Sunday.

JOSH

What?

YAMÓN

(Quiet) Every Sunday when I go shopping before work? I bring you a free bagel. Haven’t you…noticed?

JOSH

Yeah, and I appreciated it…!

YAMÓN (Overlap)

(Quiet) And I told that girl once that you weren’t home, even though you were, like you asked me to.

JOSH (Overlap)

Yes. Yeah, I know…

YAMÓN

(Quiet) And I gave you my umbrella that one time when it was raining.

JOSH (Overlap)

And I gave it back.

YAMÓN

(Quiet) And I chased the mail guy a block up the street that time when you missed him for the day. And I made you soup that time you were sick. And I put in that emergency service request for you after hours even though not having hot water isn’t exactly an “emergency.”

JOSH (Overlap)

I didn’t ask you/ to do any of those…

YAMÓN

(Quiet) And I remembered your birthday.

JOSH

Yeah, well, you didn’t have to do those things…

(Silence. YAMÓN has a pained expression on her face.)

Look…

YAMÓN

And, well…you’ve made your fair share of promises. But I let them all go.

JOSH

What do you mean?

YAMÓN

Last week, when you brought that cake down for a friend(?). On the way back up, you told me you’d bake for me sometime. And before that you told you’d burn me a copy of that new Of Monsters and Men CD. And you told me that you’d grab me a cup of coffee from the lounge that one morning and, what a surprise, you never came back.

JOSH

I… I forgot.

YAMÓN

All three times?

(Long Silence)

(Realization) They’re gonna fire me.

JOSH

No, they’re not! I swear…

YAMÓN

(Growing fear) I don’t know what I’m gonna do…

JOSH

You’ll be fine.

YAMÓN

I’ve gotta help take care of my family. And I’ve gotta pay the rent… It took me six months to find this. I’ve-I’ve gotta have a place to go. I need a job.

JOSH

Slow down. Nothing’s happened yet.

YAMÓN

(Venomously to JOSH for the first time) I killed that bee for you.

JOSH

What?

YAMÓN

When you came down here, all in a panic? A few weeks ago? When that bee got into your apartment? (Beat) You were freaking out over this tiny little insect that probably wouldn’t’ve even hurt you if you didn’t notice it in the first place. I gave you some bug spray but you said you didn’t want to be near it so I asked if you were allergic and you said “no.” You said you were “just scared.” (YAMÓN scoffs) Ringing any bells?

JOSH

Yeah. You were great. Y-you came up to me to my/ apartment…

YAMÓN

I went into your apartment. You stayed in the hall. And you shut the door on me.

(Beat)

You shut me in with that bee.

JOSH

I was scared… i-it might get out. And then it would be in the hall…

YAMÓN

And I killed it for you. (Beat) It stung me, by the way. Did you know that?

(She reaches her palm out and points to the center)

 

Right here.

JOSH

No. You didn’t say anything.

YAMÓN

You’re right. I didn’t. And it hurt. But I didn’t say anything.

JOSH

I…

(YAMÓN puts her head down. She might cry lightly.)

Please. Please don’t… It’s going to work out. I… I… (Beat) I’m sorry.

(YAMÓN looks up.
The two look at each other for a moment, perhaps seeing each other for the first time.
YAMÓN begins to collect herself.)

YAMÓN

No. No, I shouldn’t be unloading on you. It’s not your/ responsibility.

JOSH

Maybe I could write something…

YAMÓN

(Sharply dismissing him) No, don’t worry about it.

JOSH

I mean, I…

YAMÓN

I said, “Don’t worry about it.”

JOSH

Are you gonna be…okay?

YAMÓN

Yeah. No, it’s fine, I’m fine. (Looking towards the elevator) Don’t you have to be…?

JOSH

Huh?

YAMÓN

Up early?

JOSH

Yeah, I mean, I guess.

(JOSH slowly walks over to the elevator and pushes the button again.
The two wait in silence for the elevator to arrive. Eventually, it dings and slides open.)

Everything will look better in the morning. It always does. I promise.

YAMÓN

Yeah.

JOSH

(Stepping into the elevator) They might not/ even…

YAMÓN

Night, Josh.

JOSH

Goodnight, Tiffany.

YAMÓN

(Looking up) Yamón!

JOSH

What?

YAMÓN

You called me “Tiffany.”

JOSH

No I didn’t. (Beat- shock/horror) Did I?

(The elevator dings and slides closed on JOSH)

 

END OF PLAY

 

 

Brooklyn

Give me your weary-to-the-bone American Dream myth
and I’ll give you the cab driver in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn

who says that he’s a secular Muslim, Ottoman Turkish,
and not the sort of man who spray-paints Allah Akbar

as imprimatur on the brick street beside the Paris dead.
But, instead, the sort blathering on about the iPhone 6s

with the feature where you press and hold the picture
for a sunroof-movie of crossing the Brooklyn Bridge

into Manhattan. He wants riders to hear him translate
the constellations of gang graffiti on the infrastructure,

as if all veterans of the barrel bombings in Syria speak
fluent Blood, this wicked-consecrated city a press-and-

hold Heaven. He brakes. Blares the horn. Says he owns
the 1977 Smokey & the Bandit Trans Am with the T-top

and the wing-splayed raptor decaled in gold on the hood.
Says it in a voice of guarding the pass so others can travel

beyond war, beyond battlefields and the carrion feeders
whose riotous deportment some know better than God.

survival float

With my arms clasped across my chest,
wrist atop wrist
bitten fingers emboss bloodied half-moons onto crisscrossed palms.

I try to achieve buoyancy,
name this practice
absolution, the
conquering over the
waves.

A man passes by, smile reaching all the way to his gentle eyes
and asks me if I know that I’m signing the word love,
did I know that?
And I will admit I didn’t.

When I was learning to swim my teacher
tried to teach me the dead man’s float was the only chance for whole survival
but I could not unclasp my arms
even when she told me that in the water,
the weight of my fists would drive into my sternum and sink me deeper.

How can I name everything holy but religion itself
These fists are sacred weapons,
the soothing balm of controlling yourself and yourself alone.
A stoic face can still smile wide.

Touch Starvation

It is safe to go outside so
I brush my cats on the rusting balcony
to avoid their winter coats matting into the fibers of the carpet.
I pull away handfuls of white
watch the morning breeze blow it away like a cottonwood snow
imagine a bird’s nest made only of fur
delicately woven together.

The first symptom is loss of taste so I go to the Latin American market
and buy a jar of habeneros, place
a whole one on my tongue
and if the heat causes tears  to spring to my eyes
then that is a good thing
if the tears lead to the dam breaking that will be a better one
Both mean I am still alive, can still feel.

Even though I have had her for two years now
my former street cat is still touch starved
and I envy her courage to fling herself onto laps
and to rub her face on outstretched hands
to grab onto the affection when she needs it

I still hold myself back
Tell my friends I hate hugs,
go on dates just so I have an excuse
to touch another’s hand.
I’ve promised myself that when the gate lifts
I will throw myself everyone with arms even slightly outstretched
but I think we all know that’s a lie.
I’ve forgotten what voices sound like without the tin
of the phone speaker surrounding them,
what it looks like for someone to move their body fluidly
without the jerking delay of video.

I promise to write letters,
to call my grandmother back,
to let my grandfather tell me again how to get to his house
even though it was the first place outside
my hometown I learned to drive to.

Last Seen Leaving Campus with Unnamed Male

Outside the search area, a wheat field whisks away sound.
A cross on a collarbone
shines in sunlight like an unseen beacon. When the wind blows over her at night
does the wind know she is already gone? Does she know? Of course not. Death
only troubles the living left behind to feel it. Beetles crawling

through her hair in search
of a soft spot to rest. Flashlights will find her
and she will pass through the back doors of her family’s church one last time
but it will still be too late. Let the tired dogs sleep tonight.

A Marriage of Lies and One Truth

The night we first met, I wasn’t living
in a ‘78 station wagon lurking in the playground shadows of the parking lot.

You weren’t drunk that night
when you told me what love meant and that it most resembled me. Wind on my
face
doesn’t remind me of the summer nights I’ve surrender to wild heat too soon.

The clenched fist sky opened up
to feed me strawberries. That’s the real reason I was late. His lovemaking could
never compare to yours. Your awkward hips knocking against my thighs didn’t
feel like revenge that night. You never saw me cry

and pretend not to notice. The first baby was not an accident. The two that
followed
weren’t mistakes. None of them were constant reminders
of my miscalculations of time or cursed calendars. And none of them have his smile
instead of yours.

 

 

The Only Girl I Ever Loved

You had the heart of a hummingbird, the tongue
of a hornet. Sweet sting. I tried to be a flower for you, or
a nectar. Sickening. I can’t help but be
attracted to disaster.

You had the hands of a sculptor;
I placed myself between them, wet clay.
I wanted you in me
……………maneuvering my ribs.

I tried to be both: the pot, & the lighter.
Something you would reach for.
I held your tiny fingers, let my own grow unfamiliar.
I drew them, & one-line sketches of your face.
You traced them, in a daze.
Pencil never leaving page–because how could it ever
…………………………………………………..want that escape?

I wanted to be fired, coated in glass.
I thought you could have made me into anything,
and I wanted more than anything
to be something else.

I didn’t know what I was
when I met you & my hands began to sweat,
the only words for girls who want to kiss
girls I knew curses, disintegrations on my
dry and panicked tongue even
as I unfurled it into your mouth & pretended it a safe place.
Every admission I gave you: a drunken intimation &
I’m sorry.
I didn’t know     what I was     when you bought me
that gas-station-rose but I went home
with it staining my face & used
our empty bottle of Sofia wine for a vase.

Did you know how much I ached for you?                              Did I?
Much too late.

You told me no one’s place is
in someone else’s chest & I swear I heard
you even over the sound of my hammering
one into yours.

 

Yard Sale

I select a dented copper kettle, a silver fork
…………..scrolled with acanthus leaves to add
……………………….to the anarchy in my cupboards.

This cream pitcher etched with trailing vines,
…………..inscribed Mark and  Janine, 1991, could
……………………….hold miniature roses. On a rack

I sift through a jumble of silk dresses,
…………..threads secreted by caterpillars who
……………………….gnawed mulberry leaves, spun cocoons,

hoping for resurrection. Tables are piled up with
…………..what’s outdated, stained, faded; a broken
……………………….thermometer registers ninety degrees, but I

slip on slivers of ice on the grass. A doll with a
…………..missing eye slumps in a corner. It’s easy to
……………………….lose myself among these objects dense

with the memories of strangers, now jilted, forsworn,
…………..discarded, abstracted from their real homes,
……………………….those places where someone loved them.

Death in Autumn

A garden wheelbarrow
fills with rain, worms escape
their drowned burrows, a toad
squats on flagstones, expelled
……………from its leaf shelter.

Inside her house, I clean
every room, scrub bathrooms
gleaming white, while rain
traces patterns on windows,
……………focuses the light.

Goldenrod sways outside
the nursing home under
gold-leafed trees. I sort her
clothes, sweaters where moths
……………left their testaments,

pack up fragile souvenirs,
letters, photographs,
a lace-fringed card:
aides-mémoire
……………no longer needed.