We Will All Dance

upside-down inside a vase filled with your
water, and when you speak, it will sound
like math, solve for x you will say
as if it has always been that easy, then we dance
and dance with your hair twirled around us
building us up like mummies without tombs,
let us out I will say and I will try to scream it too-
but it sounds like the bubbling of a tea kettle you
left on while you shower, mindless, always
mindless, but we keep dancing even with your hair
suffocating us now, the tea kettle screaming so quietly,
take a deep breath, you say, and we do, again again
until it is redness everywhere like a horizon squinting while
our lungs fill with red, your hair pivoting, bubbling
stops, screaming, fire out, turn off the shower, wet feet,
dripping, a match, slowly, easy, no, quickly- enough.
the redness everywhere with you squinting.

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I Know You Can Hear Me

You are the pilot of our rocketship
straight to the earth’s core. Me, I think we can
beat the heat, or hope Lehmann is wrong.

You say you’ve never been afraid of anything, I say
me too.

The best therapy is a bad idea,
but I spill my guts – it doesn’t work.

I am scared there isn’t cell
reception in hell, I’ll have to write a letter,
but the postage is too much from here
to there-

I think of myself in parallel universes,
there I am happy.

OTHERSIDE

I.

It is morning in your voice, I don’t like the way the otherside looks,
the desert has taken All of it.
I build myself big enough so you can see me from a moon, at least the outer layer
of earth, but you colonize mars and cannot see me.

II.

I am Arizona now, my air is hot, I say I am lost, you don’t
run closer, instead, you turn from the hot sun
burning your pale skin, I’m sorry. I imagine
Real Arizona does not feel so deserted, I’m sorry.

III.

What have I done now? It is the moonlight in your voice,
you pull your knees up, it is a waning gibbous. I am not
afraid of Time, I am afraid of your Time, the otherside of Time,
Columbus was not afraid of anything, and look what he has left us now.

I wipe my lipstick off with the back of my hand, a universe is subsiding, it is
someone else’s fault, I assume. Here, the bees are somewhat buzzing.
Here, someone is dealing out bad luck, here, I am too occupied
with blaming Bad Luck on someone else that is not me-
Here, you wouldn’t think of kissing me here. Arizona is gone now,
are you sorry.

The lady in the chair
smiles big like it is her birthday
when I say my head feels like a balloon
that can’t explode.
“cool” she says.

I grab out my heart and tell her
my lady, I am so sorry. She doesn’t hurt,
but she is too occupied with me, buzzing
like something other than a bee, not hibernating like a bear,
swimming like a toucan, submerged like our mouse – my mouse.
We’re going to have to lose her, too.

I have cut the tip of my finger off
with the longest blade over an onion,
the blood drops on mom’s white floor
and it is the rain that had fallen
on Tuesday.

My finger eats cotton. I put cotton in my mouth to hear the rain.
The black cat runs off the porch when I call her
here, kitty, do you know what it means, the Tuesday rain?

I tell the lady with the chair that it rained
on Tuesday, they said it wouldn’t.

“You are a hard worker, too hard, too much, too fast” 

I say, unfortunately, it feels as if I am inside of a soup can.
Ha-ha. I want to make her laugh because it is
the one thing I have left that I haven’t thrown
in the garbage, out the window, in the fire, under the bed,
with the ghosts, with the rain. What do we think about trying
for an exorcism?

Her smile would look best upside down-
why aren’t you sad, lady on the chair.

Now it is the smell of an oven upside down, out of the ash,
the end of a rope, the fish line broke, the spring, the hammer,
the catch, don’t read the note, the holding bar —
the lady on top of the chair
is The best when she is suffering.