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recent & found poem fragments.

April 30, 2009

“Ashes, Ashes.”

They flame like the thumbprint
of crushed flowers. They stain
and dapple my chest, shoulders,
back, rising from the bath.
I study where your mouth was–
(Ring around the rosies.)
my thoughts turning to the skin’s
premonition of disease. The finite
nature of humankind, the ghosts
of children who danced, singing flowers
pressed into their pockets, enfolded in cloth
held to their mouths.
May the stillness of beauty
keep the death out.



She would not know me, having
given her life to the care of the body,
and having died, faultless, of its breaking down.
No, what could she see in me?
His slenderness, like a child’s, where
her heavy bosom, beautiful breasts
begged no questions, walked not
among grayness, confusion.
My mind, a tortured, studeid encasement.
My body, an abandoned afterthought,
unusual for pleasure, unremarkable
even in pain. What would she see of herself
in me? Only the sloping nose.
Daddy’s nose.



once my face pressed your spine, thus.
kissed the moony discs,
fused when you were younger than i am.
i held my breath, you breathed for me
with your asthmatic lungs,
the passages overgrown.

you were the first, mother,
into whom i bowed, curling my face
to kiss the moony discs of your spine,
the white petals grown so closely
that some were fused by a doctor
after twenty-one years of holding you up.



the suburbs gut themselves, gleaming
under the infrequent blooms of azaleas.
they are nothing like the plainness of words

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