love with a twist of vengeance
by merimee
To be alone anywhere missing him
as if he were my body too and I a wind
flitting back and forth—
oh busy body woman me
I wonder when mother knew her second husband
was lousy —that soma
snoozed our father out her diluted heart
god damn bottles of booze
mixing confusion
with self and conscious
too strong on the rocks
for a girl lost to duty
cocktail glasses on apricot formica
their final dance—not much huzzah!
but hey, she
did not find him looking into her
or acceptable—the younger sibs
have it he slapped her & she
ran frightened from him
from tidal wave passion
no in-betweens when a storm ends
it’s alive or drowned
she half there, half lost in sand
dislike my man/dislike myself
I cannot indulge the dominance of
dull/depressed as
he reflects my shit right back, yet
a gift: the blues consolidate if
I allow myself, thank goddess, to skate on it
like glass or change the channel
and swim
#4
Girl kisses
by merimee
my poor health plagues like mosquitoes, an itch
good for squinting into the future
whining like an elephant
might as well use laugh therapy
get out of the house therapy
revere the act of cracking eggs, gratefully
stir melted chocolate and butter into agave
therapy
oat flour and walnuts. Healthy brownies
splat aches and pains: those damn mosquitoes
Daddy ended each letter with “enjoy your life”
and damn he meant it
look fierce into Despair’s pretty face
and kiss her full on
Friday, October 9, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
last rays of light tonight
something about the voice cruising towards our house, rolling board wheels on asphalt and definitely a phone conversation in a girl voice, maybe late teens, twenty minutes past sunset; I look from the side of the house between wall and lilac bush to catch sight of shoulder length blonde, a triangulating ripple catching whatever raspberry edged summer light is left, short jeans skirt or skort, and with perfect grace a pale leg swoops down to give the push to momentum
I smile because skateboards used to be so much just for boys and this girl either never knew that or doesn’t give a shit—to me equally delightful ends to sexist nonsense re transportation of bodies young enough to articulate on a skateboard
I smile because skateboards used to be so much just for boys and this girl either never knew that or doesn’t give a shit—to me equally delightful ends to sexist nonsense re transportation of bodies young enough to articulate on a skateboard
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Imagine Gaza
Imagine a sky-blue metallic gauze
Imagine a sky-blue metallic gauze net wafting like a storm from the west
glittering Sandia rays bouncing off mountains, cotton candy clouds nested in baby blue
imagine the net falls on Albuquerque, you check the news—it’s everywhere, folks—sit tight—
then the lights go out, the water stops, nothing works; phones, TVs, internet all go dead—people mill about; some plan to walk to Colorado but it’s a no go. They come back saying the metallic gauze dips onto roads and into the river; the trucks have stopped. By day six the stores are looted clean; there’s no water but the green gunk in neighborhood pools, in hot tubs, maybe a few gallons going for hundreds each. You get to the river to trade for everything you’ve got. Gun shots ring through the net causing it to sing and scream spasmodically.
You stay inside with your family, eeking out the last beans and rice, the last tortillas rolled and cooked on a campstove. No one knows what to do; day six the bombs start. Whole blocks are torn to shreds. The families with children have been in the school cafeterias—the doors guarded by crazed parents with assault weapons. The hospitals are getting leveled one by one; you can see them from the roof: Presbyterian, the old Saint Joe’s. You hear that two schools nearby have been bombed. You know some kids who were in them. The churches are turning people away; the synagogues are on fire; the mosques barricaded. Those without farm animals are getting very hungry; someone shoots your dog in front of you and carries it away. You don’t protest because she said she’d kill your grand-kids if you did. The net is uncuttable. Walking is impossible. Overhead a plane flies incessantly trailing a banner which reads “Who cares?” Another one later spells out: “Very few, apparently.”
If you care, call your representatives immediately. Demand a cease to war everywhere and a repeal of the 30 billion dollar pledge to Israel of our tax dollars which funds terrorism and genocide.
Believe that peace is possible. (prose poem by Merimée Moffitt)
Imagine a sky-blue metallic gauze net wafting like a storm from the west
glittering Sandia rays bouncing off mountains, cotton candy clouds nested in baby blue
imagine the net falls on Albuquerque, you check the news—it’s everywhere, folks—sit tight—
then the lights go out, the water stops, nothing works; phones, TVs, internet all go dead—people mill about; some plan to walk to Colorado but it’s a no go. They come back saying the metallic gauze dips onto roads and into the river; the trucks have stopped. By day six the stores are looted clean; there’s no water but the green gunk in neighborhood pools, in hot tubs, maybe a few gallons going for hundreds each. You get to the river to trade for everything you’ve got. Gun shots ring through the net causing it to sing and scream spasmodically.
You stay inside with your family, eeking out the last beans and rice, the last tortillas rolled and cooked on a campstove. No one knows what to do; day six the bombs start. Whole blocks are torn to shreds. The families with children have been in the school cafeterias—the doors guarded by crazed parents with assault weapons. The hospitals are getting leveled one by one; you can see them from the roof: Presbyterian, the old Saint Joe’s. You hear that two schools nearby have been bombed. You know some kids who were in them. The churches are turning people away; the synagogues are on fire; the mosques barricaded. Those without farm animals are getting very hungry; someone shoots your dog in front of you and carries it away. You don’t protest because she said she’d kill your grand-kids if you did. The net is uncuttable. Walking is impossible. Overhead a plane flies incessantly trailing a banner which reads “Who cares?” Another one later spells out: “Very few, apparently.”
If you care, call your representatives immediately. Demand a cease to war everywhere and a repeal of the 30 billion dollar pledge to Israel of our tax dollars which funds terrorism and genocide.
Believe that peace is possible. (prose poem by Merimée Moffitt)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
