Swimming Lessons

Bathers, 1950 by George Tooker

The smell of chlorine and sweat

stings my nose and throat

My feet scrape against

unfamiliar concrete,

step in puddles 

of warmish water

The sickly sweet scent

of suntan lotion

fills the air with

artificial coconut

My bathing cap

covers my head

in gaudy rubber flowers,

the strap pulled too tight

I gaze around the grass,

try to find an open spot

to lay my towel

and glasses

Now I am a mole

in the overbearing sunlight

I want to tunnel

back underground 

Here I am too exposed

My pale skin protests

the scorching light

Shouts and laughter

of other children

are a foreign language to me

I am an outsider

I know my otherness

will be discovered

any moment

Whistle blows

shrill and ominous

The lesson begins

Cold water assaults

my skin,

uncovered and unprotected

We line up

at the diving board

I feel like a cow 

being herded to slaughter

One after the other

the children jump and dive

Then it is my turn

I feign confidence

and walk to the board's end

pray silently to Poseidon

and jump

The sting hits 

my belly

as it always does

My nose fills

with water

My eyes

with tears

I climb up the ladder

Bright red slap on my belly

and a matching one

on my face

I look at the clock

and calculate 

how many more assaults

I must endure

until the hour is

over.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 277

In the Middle

The last item checked off Friday's list

I jump into my car

Head South

The desk clerk at the hotel

Knows us by name

Our little secret

We take off our clothes

Our identities

Our responsibilities

Giggle like the kids we actually are

Hide under the covers

Two turtles in a doublewide shell

Poke our heads out

Only to get a little water

Or burgers and fries

Come check-out time on Sunday

We reassemble our adult costumes

I drive North, you South

Count the days until next time

In the middle.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 275

Leave a Message

image by Sarolta Ban 

She calls the number every day

just to hear his voice on their  answering machine

Her friends and the kids say

that it's been long enough

that it's time

but she can't erase the message

It's all she has left of him

After all,

his scent has faded

from his clothes and the bed linen

She no longer gets startled

when she awakens alone

So she clings to this last piece

She won't make him a ghost

at least, not yet

She listens to him say

"Leave your message after the tone"

She pauses, then

whispers "I love you."

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform and
Magpie Tales, Mag 274

Men

Men who act like children

We see them every day

Perpetual adolescents

Shout and tease and play

Complain about their bossy wives

Always on their tail

But when they get arrested

Who comes to pay the bail?

Men behaving like children

Serve only to annoy

Women want a grown ass man

Not a little boy!

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 273
and for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash 55 Plus

Floating

photo by Toni Frissell 

Beyond repair

I drift back home

Some say life

began in water

that existence was crafted

out of a soup

So I chance to return

add my frame to the mix

Bones are a good beginning

I will keep the obol

locked in my teeth

Ride the sea's billows

ready to deal my way 

across the last river

Perhaps I will hear

the mermaids sing

Add my voice

to the sirens' call

Perhaps

the fiery despair

that burns my heart

finally will be extinguished

Even if

I wander the banks

of nothingness 

a wraith 

for one hundred years

What does it matter?

I am already a ghost.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 272, Sunday Whirl, Wordle 205, and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform

Hush

Hush now
You've had your chance to speak
Now it's my turn
I know what you did
I can see through
things more substantial than you, honey
Don't "Wait, baby, baby" me
I'm so not in the mood
You made me a promise
You broke that promise
'Nuff said
Now it's time to pay, lamb
Did you really think you were so clever
that I wouldn't catch you?
Or maybe you thought I was so lovestruck
that I'd forgive you?
Well, you were wrong
I'm not forgiving by nature
You should have known what I was
when you remarked on my eyes-
so chatoyant, you said
and how I purr when you stroke me
Well, you know what they say
about messing with the cat, cupcake
Don't worry
It will be relatively painless
and quick
if you don't struggle
You won't hear me coming
You won't see me
And when it's done
perhaps I'll present your broken body
to the next one who thinks
they can love me.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini Challenge, Promising
and Magpie Tales, Mag 258

Hestia's Lament

Action Figures by Edith Vonnegut

Hestia sighs

"This Domestic Goddess gig is getting OLD!
Back in the day, I was worshipped
Sacrifices were made;
torches were lit
But now
I'm a glorified maid!
My brothers and sisters cavort
and carry on
while I stay here
tending house and raising the kids
Sure, I chose the domestic life
but, damn!
If I have to mop up another puddle of baby vomit
or vacuum one more hairball,
I'm going to scream!
I haven't done my Zumba workout in 3 weeks
and I need a mani-pedi NOW
before my feet look like Pan's!
It's time someone else tended hearth for a while
I'm taking a break-
right after I fish a Ninja Turtle out of the toilet!"

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 257
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, The Tuesday Platform

Moth Heart

I never fell for magic tricks

until I fell for you

You knew my cards

before I looked at them

Cut people in half

and made them whole

I was mesmerized

You made my heart disappear

under a silk handkerchief

and left in its place

a moth

The flutter of its wings

felt so much like heartbeats

I barely noticed it was missing

until the moth flew away

like one of your magic doves

I keep hoping you will return

to make me whole again.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 255

and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform

There Should Be a Word

There should be a word
for the experience of newly washed cotton sheets
hanging on the clothesline
A word that expresses
more than the fresh, clean smell of linen
more than the buttery warmth of the sun
on your face when you look up
to fasten the clothespins
more than the feeling
of home
of renewal
of nostalgia for apple pie cooling on the window pane
(even if your mother never baked apple pie)
A word for the wholeness of the experience

I'm thinking of a word
like petrichor
Petrichor captures the entire sensuousness
of the just-having-rained feeling
Say that one word
and everyone knows exactly what you mean
(once you define it for them)

There should be more
of these words
but since there are not,
I present to you a picture:
Newly washed cotton sheets
hanging on a clothesline
I hope that you understand.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 252
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, The Tuesday Platform

American Dream

I ride bareback on a bald eagle

right through your door, or

if it's locked, your bedroom window

You're gonna love me!

I'm patriot porn--

Apple pie sweet

and fuck me heels

Cherry red mouth pledging allegiance

while I jiggle my blue starred tits

I'm white as fine grade cocaine

You know you're addicted

Glory, hallelujah!

You know you want me

I'm the American dream, cupcake

Just don't open your eyes.

a bit of cynicism submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 245
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Bye Bye Miss American Pie

Mother

You always called me

your little tsouris

I thought it was a term of endearment
Like a lost word,

[it comes] back unbidden *

with your memory

You said you knew

the dark spirits would follow me

because my name was uttered

in your eighth month
 You tried

to love me but

when you looked at me,

you saw the dybbuk

and recoiled

You accused me 

of trying to turn you into a ghost

when I named my doll after you

I didn't know

I was only ten

On your grave today

I placed a stone

I'm still trying, Mother.

* For Ella's prompt, we were instructed to include a line from a ghost poem. I chose "Unbidden" by Rae Armantrout

Poet's Notes: I've made mention of several Jewish words superstitions in this poem:

• tsouris = heartbreak, worry
• uttering baby's name during pregnancy will alert evil spirits
• dybbuk = an evil spirit that possesses the living
• naming a baby after someone still alive is akin to wishing them dead
• instead of flowers, Jews place a stone when visiting a grave

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 242
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Play It Again, Toads #10, Hallows Edge

For Allison In Portland

The misty morning rain and dove grey sky

Reminds me how the wet days make you smile

I swear I hear your laughter and I sigh

Imagining a bridge across the miles.

We'd put our boots on and go take a walk

We'd splash in all the puddles on our way

We'd joke and tease or maybe we'd just talk

A day I spend with you is the best day.

And even though I miss you constantly

I daydream in your room to feel you near

I know that Portland's where you need to be

So I would never try to keep you here.

So when you feel the rainy morning mist

Know that I am sending you a kiss.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 238

Another Icarus

He always knew that he would die this way

From the moment he first felt the fire,

the warmth spreading over his body

that made all the pain go away,

he knew that he would never stop

He wasn't afraid of being burned

He flew higher

and higher

He wanted the sun for himself

if only once

And when he gave that final push,

he almost made it

Almost

But in the end

his wings turned to ash,

his body to dust

And the flame still burned.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag236 and
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Heaven's Ghetto

Keith Haring

Love can be dangerous

Cross the wrong street-

love can be deadly

Doesn't matter how we die

Disease, murder, brainwashing, hopelessness

We all end up in the same pile of bodies

Buried by gloved hands and masked faces

Heads shaking 

Thinking "not me"

until it is

Hatred is a virus

as much as HIV

It spreads by fear

Grows stronger through ignorance

And the cure still seems miles

Away

Meanwhile

We die for love

Destined for Heaven's ghetto.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 232

and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Stairs

Behold the stairs which felt our tread

Carpet frayed and thinning

Threadbare stairs which we walked down each day

and up each night, the very way

Stairs on which our footfalls fell

Our secrets they would never tell

These stairs have seen us through our pasts

The only evidence that lasts

When voices still, when bodies' lust

of flesh and bone has turned to dust

Though wood is worn  and cloth unspun

These stairs are here and we are gone.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Number 228
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Heartbreak

Jan Steen (1665) Sick Woman

Noble doctor am I, with all my tools

Despite modern Modicine's system of rules
Stand stymied and puzzled beyond all belief
For I cannot determine the root her grief!

She suffers from pains and from a fever

Despite my assessment, I cannot relieve her!

A thorough exam; there’s nothing amiss

But her vigor continues on down the abyss!

Her countenance flushed; her pulse it runs quick

I know by these symptoms she surely is sick!

All day she just sighs; the appetite poor

Despite my best efforts, I can’t find the cure!

I am bound to an oath; I’ll continue to try

For if I cannot help her, she surely will die!

Submitted for The Mag, Mag 138

It's Not Easy Being Green (Another Cautionary Tale)

image by Klaus Enrique Gerdes

Mabel's mother has always said

"No veggies, no pie, and to bed!"

But Mabel just balks like a mule

and finds dozens of ways 'round the rule

Ever since she was quite young

Not a vegetable slips past her tongue

Anything green is rejected

Her vitamin intake neglected

No carrots, no peas, and no cuke

If forced, it will make Mabel puke

It's even a battle of wills

Over her daily vitamin pills

Now her mother has just had enough

Says to Mabel "I'm sick of this stuff!"

Gives her veggies and says, "I can't bear it!"

"Here's your choice--you can eat it or wear it!"

submitted for The Mag 120

 

Lament to Chronos

"Turning To Spring" Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison

They say time heals

but these days

they creep by so slowly

and the nights

the nights are torturous

I am a tourist

in my own life

a visitor

in the museum of my mind

I'm bleeding

I'm dying

and the minutes tick by

Time doesn't care.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 109

You

image by Sarolta Ban

 You're a little, little man

Trying to play me for the fool

Did you think you had a plan?

What an idiot you are!

Just a worthless, paltry pissant, and an

utter trifling tool.

You're an itty bitty boy

And I really hate your hat

Try to treat me like a toy?

See what happens to you now

Go away and don't annoy

me anymore you rotten rat!

You're a small pathetic loser

and a parasitic tick

You know that it's all true, sir

I am looking down at you

Come on, face me, your accuser

Jeez, you really make me sick!

submitted for The Mag, Mag 107

Poetic Bloomings, In Form Poet, Genesis

It's Amazing What Soup Can Do

photo credit: Bob Adelman, 1965

 

 

One flap of a butterfly's wings

One can of soup

What is too small

to make a difference?

What if

Warhol had painted Scott Towels instead?

The grocery had been out of tomato

but had plenty of vegetable?

A rutabaga caught his eye?

Could tampons be

Pop Art?

What if

a can of tomato soup

had been donated to a soup kitchen?

What is the difference

between art

and a hungry child

getting a meal?

submitted for The Mag 106