Monday

To My Rock


It was so silent.
It was so silent, I heard
the cars moving along
the street
two stories below you
over the phone.
It was so still,
I imagined
the drip in the sink in
my kitchen
echoing -
through the wires.

I have not had a solid
night's sleep since you
sank to that place I
could not reach.

It used to be all jazz
in that red light.
The masked woman from
Venice, hovering above us,
gave us invitations to festivity -
night light, secluded sensuality;
strong hands and fingernails.
I knew that woman could do
anything she pleased, we were sure
she could climb walls
and speak of the unknown
we knew --

One night, in my dreams,
she turned her head to face me,
she was going to speak --

I have been familiar with
the agonies of the mattress,
it was breakfast in bed
three days each week --
I have fought those needles at
my fingertips;
and welcomed them;
and nourished them.
There are leftovers in my freezer.

What I think you think
is not what you think,
you react to what you
think I think
I CAN'T THINK ANYMORE

I had an idea, once,
that was healthy and pure
I mothered a cactus to full bloom --
five wide petals that felt like skin
and looked like sea anemone;
wilted, on the floor,
they formed a stray banana peel,
peach-soft on the backsides
like my child's skin.
I have sinned
by forgetting my child's name
her growth is stunted
without identity.

I thought you knew
the true values of the moon
you say you do (you do! you do!)
sometimes it's undeniably
there in your eyes
then you turn full around,
aim your darts at my heart -
say I'm "idealistic" and
I lose.

Richard at work said
I should try three things:
1. get in good with your family
2. write you a poem
and
3. smile.

- April 18, 1988, A.D.

My Rock (explanation of title of last poem)


At the back corner
of the thrift store -
for only a dollar -
I spotted a real
live lunar sample -
a charming example of
the mooner stock.
I found it resting in
the water on a fish
tank floor, and swore
I wouldn't be complete
without a lunar rock.

And so I, barely able
(with the fish tank and its table),
carried home this little stone
and placed it safely upon
the empty half of my bed
and since then -

I have watched as the little
fish have swum in and through
and around him
I have marveled -
he doesn't glow
he doesn't grow
but oh, I love him so. . .

- April 18, 1988, A.D.