Sunday, September 21, 2014

Overcast

Dear Frankie, says the poem.
I need you.

You look straight at me
as you flatiron your hair, ignore
the coolness through the window, that
touches you all at once
at 3:11 am
The Hello Kitty digital clock blinks at you
as if you missed a power outage, flipping with persistence to
the next minute.

You think that the words are not
formed yet, no good grammar or
inspiring reason, you think that you
should write of motherly soul love and pulsing after sex, you think that the
metaphors aren't perfect, but your
children are sleeping in beds far away
this morning, your body is
untouched.

Dear Frankie, says the poem.
I have no rules. Put the commas everywhere.

Memories of your father's demise, stage 4 cancer all over
in untruths that spread.
Your sisters, the thieves of houses and
baby pictures,  rolls of pennies
saved from his fear from
the Great Depression, cancer
in your marriage, tiny brown brown viles
with a tiny spoon in the cap you found
in your husbands dirty laundry, the gaping
holes in everyone's bank accounts from atm cash
withdrawls.

The wind touches everything all at once, it
changes the landscape of everything
over time.

Continents break apart.

Snow caps melt.

Species go extinct.

It's not personal.

Dear Frankie, says the poem.
You need me.