vendredi 27 juin 2014

Dans le jardin

Toujours ces clés d'antiquité
Les pleurs viennent
on ne peut pas les empêcher
Les reines fières
souriantes en masques d'albâtre
leurs robes longues, les cheveux serrés
Mais leurs filles sont nues
chassées, emportées, violées
par les dieux et les fils de dieux 
en formes d'animaux

let it go

the broken places in me
move in and out of french,
icelandic, greek and italian
sometimes it's better
not to know the language
but how my curious mind
wants to know, wants to relive
wants the pain to wash over
it never cleanses, never relieves
just replenishes
it the curse of memory
the human gift
and it's vicious

samedi 14 juin 2014

Hospital Visit

originally written in June, 2009

he's asleep in the

northwest corner of the room
we knock softly, calling out
his name... nothing but silence
there's one old man in pyjamas
sleeping soundly, the third
bed is empty, it is neatly made
with hospital corners, i wonder
about the man that was in it

we said 6, it is 7:30
we enter tentatively, not wanting
to take him by surprise and
round the drawn white curtain
he's sitting up on piled-up pillows
i notice his hair is all gray, what
remains of it after the treatments
it looks soft and thin, and i see that
he's lost weight since last week

he wakes, opening his right
eye––the left is paralyzed––and
he's surprised to see us, "oh, hi,"
and then, "they're trying a new pill"
"what kind?" i ask. "chemo..."
the first thing he does is
bring out fading pictures from the
50s, there's a photo of him at
thirteen, round and handsome
i go to the desk and ask for a xerox

we bring out the book we
bought on the story of the
coast guard, and figure out
where we last left off
we joke about the coastie motto:
"you have to go out but you
don't have to come back"
and then read about katrina

he sinks back into his
pillows, nodding out to the
monotony of my voice

jeudi 12 juin 2014

Family Habit

Our family always
did it like that
you know
hit the road
as soon as we
were old enough
We were running away
from generations of pain
perhaps at one point
outwardly caused
by some Bolshevik or Nazi
but eventually it was
with alcohol and cigarettes
sex and escapism

I always thought
I'd be the one
to break the habit
with my own children
Two sons whom I adored
and stayed close to
but I found myself in a bed
unable to get up one day
crushed with mental illness
and as hard as I tried
I couldn't rise up
My brain was running away
as it had been indoctrinated

So there it was
the family trait
and I can never again 
look at things as simple
or self-explanatory
No history is like that
It's nuanced and colored
with myriad bubbles
that break the surface
of the smooth, the perfect
the undaunted