the specific sadness of my father’s legs laid bare
my father’s legs
bent together knees left
wasted bony
too long to lie straight
in the hospital bed
shins covered with claret bruises
his feet in blue protective booties
heels hidden by white dressings
his skin too thin
to take all the lying around
after visiting hours
my sister and I
apply pressure to
our own open wounds
with a bottle of red
storm wind
after weeks no months with barely a breath
the wind came rolling over in waves
blowing open the door
and rattling the poles
capturing my otherwise wandering attention
with such insistence I laid aside all other plans
and set to lashing things down
fumbled to light the candles
I had felt that barreling gust before,
knew it as the grief of men gone
Turtle Tears
damp tracks mark the turtle’s
boxy leathery face
I ask the ranger about these secretions
turtle tears she says
then gives every explanation possible
that holds no feeling
someone asks
are we bothering her?
as another egg drops into the pile
oh no the ranger answers
we know she doesn’t mind
because she hasn’t stopped
what she was doing
I arch an eyebrow
considering my own labors
once they started
you just couldn’t stop
the next turtle chooses
to go back to the sea instead
scuffles her way toward the surf
until the researchers tackle her twice
pushing hard against her progress
digging their heels into the sand
to hold her still
while someone reads her tag
but they absentmindedly neglect to
write the numbers down
realize their mistake
and scurry to stop her again
of course
the saltwater tracks down her cheeks
are just water
instinctive
not grief
it’s easier for everyone
if it’s true
23 October
all day I’ve been silently slipping
in and out of thoughts of you
your birthday ingrained
in my internal calendar
like my first address
a prime number
I still don’t know
what I was supposed to learn or do
what I was asked to give
how I should have changed
no one speaks of any of this here
alone I settle into
the deep confusion
your memory rends
like the sucking fountain
where the towers once stood
the darkness going down down down
deeper than light can go
into a silent still chamber
where no answers wait
after a time
I begin to ascend
glimpse the 3 warm pink bodies near me
throw my grappling hook at any and all
haul myself into sun
with enough strength left
to mumble
thank you for the alphabet soup
that brought five of us
into the light
Feminist Fashion Police Citizen’s Arrest
as the long escalator plunges down
through the glittery shopping-obsessed
Oil State airport/mall
I can’t help but read
the trim young woman’s back
in front of me over and over
spelled out in a block
of black and white sequins:
THINK LESS
trapped together for this moment
the stages of grief flash by
while both our hearts keep sinking lower
darning
suffering: from sub = up, under
plus ferre = to carry, bear,
from bher = to carry, to bear children
This page now holds a weight
I carried long enough –
far longer than
my own sons.
I’m leaving it here.
I’m learning a new lexicon:
ataraxia: (profound tranquility, untroubledness)
from a = not
plus tarassein = to disturb, confuse
katastematic pleasure: (that which accompanies well-being)
from kathistemi = to stand still
I’m standing in a still circle of one
reading about valences
and the anterior cingulate cortex
and affective pain
thinking about dukkha and moksha
and Cassell’s intactness of the person.
I am quietly pulling pieces together
sewing holes closed.
the fog lifts
after all these long grey lean years
the fog lifts
leaving a bluer sky
than I’ve ever known
and a rosy warmth
(the joy of being enough)
where all I expected
was the close damp chill
and confusion of mist
where you can’t see
your hand in front of your face
where you listen to faint echoes
to triangulate where you are
now there’s finally enough light
to read the map myself
step out with confidence
that the ground will hold
and I’ll see my way home
to all those loving hearts
that waited patient
while I felt my way
from one dead end to the next
in a maze not of my making
where a compass wouldn’t work
revolutions
the ceiling fan
spins
an endless
left-handed twirl
and I could sleep
for days
except
when my lids lower
my mind spirals
along
at the intersection of
what if
and
which faults were
mine?
spent days pile up
like layers of shale:
unreadable
into the earth
today I bury
Mary & Will’s son
Patrick’s brother
my father
back to the earth
I give
the man who called me Hon
whose chest rumbled
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
in my ear every year
I bury snores that shook the house
and the click of the La-Z-Boy footrest
snapping into place
into the open ground
I put the smell of Scotch
and the crack of ice
the scent of Marlboros
and aftershave
I bury our single game of backgammon
and our many King’s Quests
here in the loam
I place Sundays
of Canadian bacon and eggs
glass Pepsi bottles
and the crossword
I bury a rough cheek
and a black fur fedora
with a jaunty red feather
old galoshes and new Buicks
under the turf
among the roots
I lower
our disappointment
yours and mine
at being who we are
today my heart heaps
soothing Walnut Creek clay
to bury the weight of trying
to ask the right questions
now I put the memory
of holding your hand
trying to undo loneliness
deep into the soil
today I bury
Ma’s grandson
Bill
my only Dad
