IN THAT BUSTLE
I walked past her in that bustle
Of Christmas shoppers and
Delight.
Her sobs made me pause
As I walked past her
In that bustle
Of people laughing with
Snow covered hats askew.
But my steps were made more hesitant
The farther away I strode
Till in that bustle
I turned around and returned
Unsure of how to use my words.
Her sobs were loud and piercing
In that merry bustle all around
And while others glanced back every
Now and then,
No one stopped to hear
This woman sobbing in that bustle
Had lost her husband in an accident
Most tragic
And herself now lost in our bustle
Watched families grip one another tight,
The way she would have gripped her husband
Had he been there in that bustle with us tonight.
STUPID—LITTLE PUPPET
Rapid roaring of shit-stained water.
Screeching. Rushing. Whistling.
sharp rocks, smooth pebbles,
ribbons of swirling murkiness beneath my feet.
tree trunk, clawed grooves, hairy roots,
peeping eyes, stubbly back, elongated mouth.
Step by step, one foot at a time, chant.
My toes clawing rough wood
fragments of bark staining my heels. Aiming for
dank dirt, elephant grass, leafy trees with
arched branches, golden droplets, canopied serpents
stretch to reach the hairy roots dripping chunky earth.
Pull the marionette strings daddy,
Tell me when to go, when to stop.
me: mindless, foolish, young.
Stupid Puppet
Little Girl
run run run
CRESCENTS OF APPLES AND ORANGES
Behind sodden boards,
chinks of sunlight betray a small
frame—a seven-year-old praying,
a wolf prowling, tendrils curling--
while silent twigs--
—snap beneath bare
feet. The child is quiet while chickens
peck toes and ants stab skin. The triangle
cocoa-house-rooftop-galvanize glints.
She shuts her eyes—
—covers her ears, screams—
Stab. Compelled to look within the kitchen
she sees the silvery shield between mother
and father—broken—bloody fists and--
Instead she focuses on the tablecloth lined with
crescents of apples and oranges
I walked past her in that bustle
Of Christmas shoppers and
Delight.
Her sobs made me pause
As I walked past her
In that bustle
Of people laughing with
Snow covered hats askew.
But my steps were made more hesitant
The farther away I strode
Till in that bustle
I turned around and returned
Unsure of how to use my words.
Her sobs were loud and piercing
In that merry bustle all around
And while others glanced back every
Now and then,
No one stopped to hear
This woman sobbing in that bustle
Had lost her husband in an accident
Most tragic
And herself now lost in our bustle
Watched families grip one another tight,
The way she would have gripped her husband
Had he been there in that bustle with us tonight.
STUPID—LITTLE PUPPET
Rapid roaring of shit-stained water.
Screeching. Rushing. Whistling.
sharp rocks, smooth pebbles,
ribbons of swirling murkiness beneath my feet.
tree trunk, clawed grooves, hairy roots,
peeping eyes, stubbly back, elongated mouth.
Step by step, one foot at a time, chant.
My toes clawing rough wood
fragments of bark staining my heels. Aiming for
dank dirt, elephant grass, leafy trees with
arched branches, golden droplets, canopied serpents
stretch to reach the hairy roots dripping chunky earth.
Pull the marionette strings daddy,
Tell me when to go, when to stop.
me: mindless, foolish, young.
Stupid Puppet
Little Girl
run run run
CRESCENTS OF APPLES AND ORANGES
Behind sodden boards,
chinks of sunlight betray a small
frame—a seven-year-old praying,
a wolf prowling, tendrils curling--
while silent twigs--
—snap beneath bare
feet. The child is quiet while chickens
peck toes and ants stab skin. The triangle
cocoa-house-rooftop-galvanize glints.
She shuts her eyes—
—covers her ears, screams—
Stab. Compelled to look within the kitchen
she sees the silvery shield between mother
and father—broken—bloody fists and--
Instead she focuses on the tablecloth lined with
crescents of apples and oranges