No, I don’t dare....

I don't dare think about how nice it would be to have my mom standing next to me when Jack gets out of school and how delighted she'd be at how funny and handsome he is...

I don't dare even imagine my mom coming to stay with us in the improvised guest room in the attic where I'd put fresh flowers in a vase for her, pictures of us all together laughing, laying out clean towels and a little chocolates for her to enjoy.

I don't dare imagine her glee while perusing gifts for her grandchildren and then having lunch with me and giggling over something inane or puzzling while we picked at each other's food.

I don't dare imagine what life would be like if she were in my life today and tomorrow because it's never going to be that way but sometimes, when I'm still in my bathrobe and have wet hair, I lie under my covers for warmth and the wishes creep in anyway.

There I am, curled up next to my purring cat, looking into her deep eyes and watching myself weep.

Segovia

On the cobbled streets of Segovia
Ancient arches connect us
To courtyards and bread
From red potted flowers
To thick, frothy chocolate leche
Fried mushrooms and dreams.

Beyond I see the aqueduct
Roma reaching into our time
Held together by keystones
High over this storied city.

Teens in scarves smoking hashish
Scarved grandmas with thick ankles
Pushing carts full of food
Into the evening sun.

Red

Predatory animals
Have no prejudice
That guy's not white
That girl's not black
Diane, she's not....yellow.

Inside, all those people
They're red
And delicious.

Hush, Hush

Oooh baby,
Hush, hush.
Hear a river swoosh.
See the branch sway.
Marvel at the bird in flight.
Be in awe.
Plant your hopes.
Water the future.
It's gonna be okay, baby.
The world is in you.
The world IS you.

There is Hope Yet

My darling, do not fret.
I know you cry in the night.
I know you cry in the day too.
You feel so alone, even so loved as you are.
There is hope for you, yet.
Even now, it grows in the dark soil.
You cannot see it but the sprout reaches upward.
Despite any condition, hope grows.
If you are still, you can hear its song.
You can feel its dance in your heart.
Around sorrow, hope dances with arms outward.
You see, dear, you deserve happiness.
Hope knows what is best.
Hope will never let you down.
Life is not out to get you though it seems this way.
Life is a partner of hope.
I know it hurts to grow.
Hope knows this too.
Hope knows your pain.
Hope understands.
This is why hope loves you so.
Will you love hope back?
Will you water your hope?

Jack says...

"Mommy, you're not a little girl any more. I need to give you some energy to make you little again so you can do more stuff at the playground. Maybe we can buy energy at the store to make you little so we can play little kid stuff together. You need a lot of energy to get small again."

----

"Mommy, mosquitos like you. You are a sweet girl and I am a sweet boy. Maybe we should get yucky so they stay away from our blood."

----

"Mommy, when I was in your uterus, I was dreaming in there."

----

"When I was a baby, I didn't like barfing my milk. It made me stinky."

----

"Before we lived in a house, we lived in an apartment. We paid forty four dollars....(hands up and waving)...FORTY FOUR DOLLARS!!!"

Streets of an Old Town

I go back unwillingly
To the streets of an old town
Dilapitated buildings
More abandoned than inhabited
The cobblestones in disarray
Long tufts of languishing grass
Struggling for sustenance
Old memories hang in the air
Like stale cooked fish and onions
The faces are long and expectation gone
So many have died from foggy rocks
Haggling gone wrong ending in blood spatter
Thieving and lying more prevalent
Than truth, honesty and happiness.

I go home to the streets of an old town
No longer employing thousands
To haul coal on the rail lines
The wetlands being shaved down
For new strip mall next to strip mall
To employ the customers
Who employ other customers
All going to the same stores and restaurants
Of different names.

On the streets of this old town
My young memories walk to school
And in my nightmares I cannot find it
I walk more in the streets of this old town
Looking for my future self
Begging her not to bring me back here
But she still does.

Lady in a Fruit Dress

I walked into the office
And this woman
With little fruits
All over her dress
Was going through
My desk drawers
With this smirk
Of victory.

She told me
I was no longer needed
At the magazine
My writing was profane
Encouraged drug use
Promiscuity
I told her
That was not true
I operate on honesty
I promote life and living
The woman in the fruit dress
Dusted her hands off
Put them onto her hips
Told me to collect
My things
And to never come back.

Safe is Nowhere

Don't go outside
You might get strangled
A car may crush you
You could trip
Crack your cranium
Bleed your brain out
Someone else
May slip on it
Crack their cranium too
This whole conga line
Of brains of death
Go back inside
Hide under the blanket
The monster under the bed
Might just come topside
Smothering you
The wet roofing
Will collapse
Crush your little body
It is of no consequence
You are fearing everything
It's all out to get you
So
You may as well get showered
Put on a nice dress
Brush that tangled mess
Shine up your face
Open the door
Let the sun shine in
Skip down the walk
Pirouette into the day.

All Sides Being Equal

These eyes
These hands
Have seen
Have sifted
A great deal of pain
Just the same
They have seen
They have beheld
Immeasurable beauty
Unexplainable fortunes
Everything evens out.

Stinky

Don't get so self absorbed
That you soak up everything around
That will feed only you.

A sponge in my sink
Once did something like that
Filling itself with stench.

Take Your Women

Take that look of disgust
Off your face
Fuck the dishes
Let them rot
You come home
Plop your ass down
Watch the TV
Peck at the computer
Drink your carbonated piss.

Get a job!
Stay home!
Be independent!
Depend on me!
Go to work!
Make my dinner!
Make us more money!
Where's my laundry?

Hey hon
Did you notice
I did the dishes?
Yea, I did.
Hey man,
I've done the dishes
5 trillion times.
HAVE YOU NOTICED?
No, honey, that one time
You forgot to though
I did.

Take your women
Fall in love with them
Chide them later
For who they are
The one you fell for
So long ago
The very things
Which fascinated you
Make you now
Full of fear
Superiority Rules!

Listen Mr. Cock
You have but the ability
To lift things with
Those biceps I love
To hold onto
When we fuck
BUT
You are no stronger
Than me.

Fairest Maiden

Fair maiden
Chewed her dinner
Rather incompletely
As the toilet revealed
This clear indisputable truth
The next morning.

Dreamlessly

(a poem by Charles Bukowski)

old grey-haired waitresses
in cafes at night
have given it up,
and as i walk down sidewalks of
light and look into windows
of nursing homes
I can see that it is no longer
with them.
I see people sitting on park benches
and i can see by the way they
sit and look
that it is gone.

I see people driving cars
and I see by the way
they drive their cars
that they neither love nor are
loved -
nor do they consider
sex. it is all forgotten
like an old movie.

I see people in department stores and
supermarkets
walking down aisles
buying things
and i can see by the way their clothing
fits them and by the way they walk
and by their faces and their eyes
that they care for nothing
and that nothing cares
for them.

I see a hundred people a day
who have given up
entirely.

if I go to the racetrack
or a sporting event
I can see thousands
that feel for nothing or
no one
and get no feeling
back.

everywhere I see those who
crave nothing but
food, shelter, and
clothing; they concentrate
on that,
dreamlessly

I do not understand why these people do not
vanish
I do not understand why these people do not
expire
why the clouds
do not murder them
or why the dogs
do not murder them
or why the flowers and the children
do not murder them,
I do not understand.

I suppose they are murdered
yet i can't adjust to the
fact of them
because they are so many.

each day,
each night,
there are more of them
in the subways and
in the buildings and
in the parks

they feel no terror
at not loving
or at not
being loved

so many many many
of my fellow

creatures.

"We should get her back."

Conversation with Jack:

"Your mom is dead, Mommy?"

"Yes, Jack. She is still dead."

"Were you in her uterus like I was in your uterus?"

"Yes, Jack. Everyone was in a uterus before they were born."

"Your mom is dead."

"Yes, Jack, she is."

"We should get her back."

"Back from where, honey?"

"Where is she, Mommy?"

"She's buried in Thailand."

"We need to get on a plane and get her."

"We can't, honey. She's dead. Once you're dead, you stay that way. No one can make you alive again."

"I'm sad."

"Me too, honey."

Hen-Boy

Jack comes into the living room uttering his hen song with a tightly wrapped whatever-it-is in one of his old burp cloths from infancy.

"What are you doing with that blanket, Jack?"

"It's not my blankie, Mom. It's my egg."

"Oh, I see."

He places the "egg" carefully upon the couch, gets up and squats onto the egg.

"Bok! Bok! Bok!"

"Now what are you doing, buddy?"

"I'm the hen. I'm warming this egg so my baby comes out."

"Oh, that's really something, honey."

"Keeeerrrrrr ACK!"

He hops off, unwraps a knit bluebird my friend Shannon made (inspired by Bukowski's 'Bluebird' poem) and hugs the bird tightly.

"See my baby chick, Mommy? SEE IT?"

"Yes, honey, it's gorgeous!"

"His name is Stanley."

"What a lovely name!"