I love this I love this
I love this
I can barely stand being me
so many beautiful things
crouched in my living room
in my boxes in my closet
my dresser is a treasure chest
I should be kissing the earth
so lucky am I to be here
to be blessed with this cool breeze
my favorite window
my favorite couch
cooled eternal by my bargain fan
I am so lucky to know George Winston
to have nice housemates
who offer me ripe tomatoes
and warm wheat tortillas
to have this light filled home
to have a good memory
goodness is all around me
I am so lucky
8-25-99
Cecily
Don’t be fooled
by her rebel hair.
She smiles constantly-
gives a lot of gentle grins.
I see her motherly wings
around her black leather children,
her body too young for her soul.
She loves new wave
and plays in a punk rock band
on the weekends.
But she is no tragic child.
In her carboat she easily
gives the right of way
with her two syllable laugh
and silver pierced tongue.
She “don’t drink-don’t smoke”
but orders Shirley Temples
with a sugar cherry on top.
And I felt a certain security
sitting in her backseat
driving on the 405,
even if that is as close
as we ever were.
She keeps a lot of quarters
for the juke box
and for playing pool.
She looks like an angel
in her Catholic skirt
and leopard print Creepers.
I know how much she loves
chocolate and coffee,
calls her boyfriend “Boo,”
and likes watching cartoons and porn.
I am not one of her children,
spiked hair and tattoos.
But I do belong
when I show up at her house
for a barbecue or
waiting while she dresses
and puts on make up she doesn’t need.
It’s because of her I am no longer
the world’s worst pool player.
8-25-99
by her rebel hair.
She smiles constantly-
gives a lot of gentle grins.
I see her motherly wings
around her black leather children,
her body too young for her soul.
She loves new wave
and plays in a punk rock band
on the weekends.
But she is no tragic child.
In her carboat she easily
gives the right of way
with her two syllable laugh
and silver pierced tongue.
She “don’t drink-don’t smoke”
but orders Shirley Temples
with a sugar cherry on top.
And I felt a certain security
sitting in her backseat
driving on the 405,
even if that is as close
as we ever were.
She keeps a lot of quarters
for the juke box
and for playing pool.
She looks like an angel
in her Catholic skirt
and leopard print Creepers.
I know how much she loves
chocolate and coffee,
calls her boyfriend “Boo,”
and likes watching cartoons and porn.
I am not one of her children,
spiked hair and tattoos.
But I do belong
when I show up at her house
for a barbecue or
waiting while she dresses
and puts on make up she doesn’t need.
It’s because of her I am no longer
the world’s worst pool player.
8-25-99
Father of My Smiling Nephew
My brother is rad.
He plays online chess
and gives silent grunts
when he sees your point.
He carries his three year old
on his tall shoulders;
tufts of blonde hair are handles
for his smiling boy.
He gets excited when he fixes things;
he suddenly knows how to talk fast.
I know what he means.
He likes to be a devil’s advocate,
but he does listen well.
8-25-99
He plays online chess
and gives silent grunts
when he sees your point.
He carries his three year old
on his tall shoulders;
tufts of blonde hair are handles
for his smiling boy.
He gets excited when he fixes things;
he suddenly knows how to talk fast.
I know what he means.
He likes to be a devil’s advocate,
but he does listen well.
8-25-99
Lunchtime
He flies past the front door screen with his summer shorts
and sunglasses with the
string around his head.
Makes me forget my memory,
inspired burst of imagery.
He talks to his wife
while twisting off a cap
to the mayonnaise.
She listens past her school books
above the keys she is tapping.
She rises and cuts red onions
for a lunchtime wrap.
I will make one for myself
when they are gone.
8-25-99
and sunglasses with the
string around his head.
Makes me forget my memory,
inspired burst of imagery.
He talks to his wife
while twisting off a cap
to the mayonnaise.
She listens past her school books
above the keys she is tapping.
She rises and cuts red onions
for a lunchtime wrap.
I will make one for myself
when they are gone.
8-25-99
Photograph #1
I am barely eleven,
leaning against the brown van,
parked across from
our alley house.
Eli and I are eating ice cream,
I think, from a truck,
each holding dwarf dogs
confused always as puppies.
I am wearing my sister’s dress,
homemade, with large pockets.
I can barely hold both
the dog and the ice cream.
Eli is laughing.
I think, I am too.
8-25-99
leaning against the brown van,
parked across from
our alley house.
Eli and I are eating ice cream,
I think, from a truck,
each holding dwarf dogs
confused always as puppies.
I am wearing my sister’s dress,
homemade, with large pockets.
I can barely hold both
the dog and the ice cream.
Eli is laughing.
I think, I am too.
8-25-99
The Last And Final Poem To N.L.
I loved you
I admit it two years
Since we last spoke
Your potato chip voice
And bony hands
The way you grouped your fingers
At your mouth
And your big off-center teeth
I loved the way you got into your car
Like a grown up with limbs too long
The way you walked into the grocery store
As awkward as a Muppet’s legs
You and your rail thin body
And old man’s clothes
I loved your shoes
The blue One Stars
And green Vans
I loved the way you couldn’t look me in the eye
The way you never took your hat off in three years
And wore glassed on your tiny head
We were children in our grown up bodies
So we went to parks at midnight
And climbed fences in schoolyards
I loved that you still skated at twenty-two
That you liked stickers and sugary Kool-Aid
I loved that you cut my hair
And painted pictures
I only saw once
That you watched G-Force
And lent me taped episodes
Even more, I loved your music
The ones you loved
You gave me Dinosaur Jr.
And the Wedding Present
You read James Joyce and
Introduced me to Holden Caulfield
(Your secret alias)
Your random letters
And indirect thoughts
I overlooked your snobbery
Your cruel remarks
I hoped to be as good as I saw you
Exclusive and without remorse
I loved the way you resisted me
I loved that you spoke to me for hours
On the telephone
I loved you then
For leaving me without apology
For digging this pit in my heart
For watching with me
The train pass deafening loud
And fingers clenched on the chain fence
You said it made you feel empty
I loved you for those words
For hating my poetry
And ridiculing my insecurities
I loved you
I know you did not understand
You thought me unimaginative
I thought you good and hateful and real
I loved you for the tiny things
Like smelly car fresheners
And emails about diluting ice
But you gave the most unkind cut
Words of detest and spite
You, who loved cartoons and butter tortillas
You did not love me
You repulsed at my weakness
Without remorse or hesitation
You broke clean of me
And I was left with your letters
And musical taste
Left with the emptiness of passing trains
Bootleg copies of foreign films
A heart gouged and affected
Left with these descriptive words
And useless opinions
This is to be your last poem
The last time I love you this way
The last of you haunting me
The last conclusion in these memories
But you knew then what my honesty was
A moment’s passing thought
You thought my sentiment cheap
I know now, you were so wrong
8-25-99
Originally published in The Long Beach Union (CSULB)
I admit it two years
Since we last spoke
Your potato chip voice
And bony hands
The way you grouped your fingers
At your mouth
And your big off-center teeth
I loved the way you got into your car
Like a grown up with limbs too long
The way you walked into the grocery store
As awkward as a Muppet’s legs
You and your rail thin body
And old man’s clothes
I loved your shoes
The blue One Stars
And green Vans
I loved the way you couldn’t look me in the eye
The way you never took your hat off in three years
And wore glassed on your tiny head
We were children in our grown up bodies
So we went to parks at midnight
And climbed fences in schoolyards
I loved that you still skated at twenty-two
That you liked stickers and sugary Kool-Aid
I loved that you cut my hair
And painted pictures
I only saw once
That you watched G-Force
And lent me taped episodes
Even more, I loved your music
The ones you loved
You gave me Dinosaur Jr.
And the Wedding Present
You read James Joyce and
Introduced me to Holden Caulfield
(Your secret alias)
Your random letters
And indirect thoughts
I overlooked your snobbery
Your cruel remarks
I hoped to be as good as I saw you
Exclusive and without remorse
I loved the way you resisted me
I loved that you spoke to me for hours
On the telephone
I loved you then
For leaving me without apology
For digging this pit in my heart
For watching with me
The train pass deafening loud
And fingers clenched on the chain fence
You said it made you feel empty
I loved you for those words
For hating my poetry
And ridiculing my insecurities
I loved you
I know you did not understand
You thought me unimaginative
I thought you good and hateful and real
I loved you for the tiny things
Like smelly car fresheners
And emails about diluting ice
But you gave the most unkind cut
Words of detest and spite
You, who loved cartoons and butter tortillas
You did not love me
You repulsed at my weakness
Without remorse or hesitation
You broke clean of me
And I was left with your letters
And musical taste
Left with the emptiness of passing trains
Bootleg copies of foreign films
A heart gouged and affected
Left with these descriptive words
And useless opinions
This is to be your last poem
The last time I love you this way
The last of you haunting me
The last conclusion in these memories
But you knew then what my honesty was
A moment’s passing thought
You thought my sentiment cheap
I know now, you were so wrong
8-25-99
Originally published in The Long Beach Union (CSULB)
Some Other Day
Today, like some other days
I am weighted
my body with mind
holding secret resistance meetings
resist the day
maybe I need more sun
some Ginseng or St. John's Root
go for a jog
I am inside myself
today being some unwilling day
some day to fight against
I keep logging on
eye on the box
not expecting but some strange hope
being let down is so predictable
I blame the heat
August is so unforgiving
but it's been an easy year
so far, I think
my body aches
my mind crowded with sleep
I don't want to be motivated
physically ruled
my heart & head sit in the back seat
Is this mere hunger
Damn diet leaving me empty
I have no distractions
No lust or betrayal current
I am with my worst enemy
my solitary self
without preoccupation
it's freedom causing lull
I should put on my walking shoes
I kid myself seeing
the vacuum blocks my way
I am defeated
weak with nothingness
weak today
this humorous exaggeration
I take things too seriously
8-23-99
I am weighted
my body with mind
holding secret resistance meetings
resist the day
maybe I need more sun
some Ginseng or St. John's Root
go for a jog
I am inside myself
today being some unwilling day
some day to fight against
I keep logging on
eye on the box
not expecting but some strange hope
being let down is so predictable
I blame the heat
August is so unforgiving
but it's been an easy year
so far, I think
my body aches
my mind crowded with sleep
I don't want to be motivated
physically ruled
my heart & head sit in the back seat
Is this mere hunger
Damn diet leaving me empty
I have no distractions
No lust or betrayal current
I am with my worst enemy
my solitary self
without preoccupation
it's freedom causing lull
I should put on my walking shoes
I kid myself seeing
the vacuum blocks my way
I am defeated
weak with nothingness
weak today
this humorous exaggeration
I take things too seriously
8-23-99
Arrive
Suddenly, the receiver down,
I can do this-
be a twenty-five year old woman.
The house alone,
open the windows wide,
inhale,
exhale.
8-12-99
I can do this-
be a twenty-five year old woman.
The house alone,
open the windows wide,
inhale,
exhale.
8-12-99
August 12th
Forty-five minutes into August 12th
I am twenty-five
On the freeway heading south
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
I am thirsty
Much too hot near one a.m.
I’m already depressed
I choose to be alone
To spend the day
Watching Blockbuster movies
I will wear a nice dress
And uncomfortable shoes
That make me look my age
I will sleep late
Indulging in morning fantasies
The dark boy from “The Low Life”
I can close my eyes
On his brown body
I prefer to call him Lucas
Rory is so unpoetic
No one will disrupt my dreams
My sheets are in the dryer
I am waiting in the meanwhile
Five a.m. only four more hours
Time of delivery
My mother in some hospital bed
Heaving my small body
Past her stout legs
Was that my entrance before dawn
No wonder I hate mornings
Whites sitting unfolded
Black fuzz on sock toes
Birthday- who would have thought
I am still here
Floral couch and mauve blanket
Surrounded by home things
House plants and CD racks
Framed photos and green pillows
(I picked the darker ones)
I will wait for phone calls
Feign surprise feign happiness
I choose to be alone
To take a longer shower
Extra shampoo rinse in cool water
My body shows the years
My face denies
“I’d guess fourteen, but maybe more”
I am not offended
Why waste time on the trivial
How would melted wax
Feel between my toes
I gave out books to reach others
I really wanted to be reached
They have yet to come back to me
My words like full grown children
Living on their own
Very well then, I suppose
My short dirty fingernails
My feet bulging blue veins
I use to love my mother’s
Her hands like pipelines
I could push across her bones
Press hard change the color
Of her finger tips
Were they born with me
From clenched fists
Pushing out in August heat
She had three children
By twenty-five years old
I am still single
Barely known
I have little use for these
Markers of time
Twenty-five years on earth
One quarter of a century
I am here despite the calendar
Despite the position of the sun
I am a Leo
Like one out of twelve people
Like one of 366 people born today
I should be a lioness
Aggressive and vain
But I am fashion ignorant
And only speak to strangers
When I need information
My mother smiles a lot
She is old friends with bank tellers
She is not afraid of the unknown
I could learn from her
She was still breathing, heaving labor
Near two a.m. 1974
Nixon had just resigned four days prior
Disco was all the rage
But my mother did not dance
She wore homemade dresses
And drove a Valiant without seatbelts
I am paler than her now
The sun takes too much work
I pull my skirt up when I drive my 626
I’ve always hated too much air conditioning
The dryer buzzed
I can fix my bed
I’ll be asleep at five
With my dark boy fantasies
In my shorts from Express
And my old band T-shirt
I choose to be alone
Think about my body
Diet on chocolate sugar cookies
I am a lioness strong and proud
Less nostalgic
Less affected
Twenty-five
I am by the window
At two a.m.
Listening to distant cars
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
8-12-99
I am twenty-five
On the freeway heading south
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
I am thirsty
Much too hot near one a.m.
I’m already depressed
I choose to be alone
To spend the day
Watching Blockbuster movies
I will wear a nice dress
And uncomfortable shoes
That make me look my age
I will sleep late
Indulging in morning fantasies
The dark boy from “The Low Life”
I can close my eyes
On his brown body
I prefer to call him Lucas
Rory is so unpoetic
No one will disrupt my dreams
My sheets are in the dryer
I am waiting in the meanwhile
Five a.m. only four more hours
Time of delivery
My mother in some hospital bed
Heaving my small body
Past her stout legs
Was that my entrance before dawn
No wonder I hate mornings
Whites sitting unfolded
Black fuzz on sock toes
Birthday- who would have thought
I am still here
Floral couch and mauve blanket
Surrounded by home things
House plants and CD racks
Framed photos and green pillows
(I picked the darker ones)
I will wait for phone calls
Feign surprise feign happiness
I choose to be alone
To take a longer shower
Extra shampoo rinse in cool water
My body shows the years
My face denies
“I’d guess fourteen, but maybe more”
I am not offended
Why waste time on the trivial
How would melted wax
Feel between my toes
I gave out books to reach others
I really wanted to be reached
They have yet to come back to me
My words like full grown children
Living on their own
Very well then, I suppose
My short dirty fingernails
My feet bulging blue veins
I use to love my mother’s
Her hands like pipelines
I could push across her bones
Press hard change the color
Of her finger tips
Were they born with me
From clenched fists
Pushing out in August heat
She had three children
By twenty-five years old
I am still single
Barely known
I have little use for these
Markers of time
Twenty-five years on earth
One quarter of a century
I am here despite the calendar
Despite the position of the sun
I am a Leo
Like one out of twelve people
Like one of 366 people born today
I should be a lioness
Aggressive and vain
But I am fashion ignorant
And only speak to strangers
When I need information
My mother smiles a lot
She is old friends with bank tellers
She is not afraid of the unknown
I could learn from her
She was still breathing, heaving labor
Near two a.m. 1974
Nixon had just resigned four days prior
Disco was all the rage
But my mother did not dance
She wore homemade dresses
And drove a Valiant without seatbelts
I am paler than her now
The sun takes too much work
I pull my skirt up when I drive my 626
I’ve always hated too much air conditioning
The dryer buzzed
I can fix my bed
I’ll be asleep at five
With my dark boy fantasies
In my shorts from Express
And my old band T-shirt
I choose to be alone
Think about my body
Diet on chocolate sugar cookies
I am a lioness strong and proud
Less nostalgic
Less affected
Twenty-five
I am by the window
At two a.m.
Listening to distant cars
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
8-12-99
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