Tire Swing Romance

A solitary freckle on his nose
becomes the focal point of face

Marshmallow kisses that melt
sticky in the sun

That thawing of limbs
intertwining of tawny branches

A palpatation
a frantic need, a slow

Michael, rubber kisses, and a two month withdrawl.

Incisors

When you smiled all your teeth fell out into my palm.

I tucked 28 under your pillow. Good for a small fairy fortune.

Kept the 4 full of wisdom.

Sewed them into my cheeks, stole your judgement.

Later, watched you fall in love with me.

Gertrude Stein, "Tender Buttons"

Challenging, mindblowing poetry.



These are 2 of my favorite lines taken from the collection "Tender Buttons"


"A light white, a disgrace, an ink spot, a rosy charm"
-A Petticoat

"A star glide, a single frantic sullenness, a single financial grass greediness."
-A Waist

Innocence

There are blisters on my feet from walking away.

The summer lasted 40 days and 40 nights
Then it rained.

Whenever he approaches I quiver
Like the pink velvet of a rabbit's nose.

Run away from everything
Guns especially.

Smoke too.

Rain puts out fire
Never smoke.

Steam is good.

Harmless and vaporizing
Vicks, Irons, and Showers.

I call this innocence.

Jane's Potential Former Existence

Jane often wondered:
"Was I dead before I was alive?"
Usually, this idea would come to her at odd moments

Not in idyllic bright orange and blue mornings
but in the everyday melding of the kaleidoscope-
which made purple

Filling out tax returns or while absently feeding the cat:
"Did I exist before I existed?"
Of course, the idea of never existing is unfathomable to all

Because, to be God is the human aspiration
nevertheless, Jane had to have been something before

Some island under stained seas
or perhaps a time warp-
through which the polychromatous traveled

Study In Purple/Jane

Jane collected jewelry,

never buttons

which were only good for mending.

Jane had: a mother

an iris flower

a cat with a gem color.

In the purple promise of a Thursday

Jane found an amethyst band

and said she was committed.

In a fictional elopement

enveloped in lavender cigarette haze

Jane fled.

Driving toward a city

with gelatin skylines

and plum pavement,

Jane called her mother

who had been worried,

asleep.

Over the lilac receiver

she promised to be unhappy

and quietly resentful.

Mauve-streaked veins

pulsed wine

And Jane put on her purple coat.

Childhood Home

There was a sloping yard

a pine tree

a front door—

no mat.

The purple room was mine

and had a window to the porch.

If I had stayed longer

it would have been perfect for sneaking out.

A kitchen with slanting windows

a piano salvaged

with splinter keys

and aging ivory.

Two twin beds

with truck-covered comforters

one fiercely rumpled,

the other gentle, smooth.

Another room:

a low mattress beneath a crack of light

a bathroom

with a toilet.

I used to find her there

on the garage sale table

knees high

crying.

Another yard

this time behind

with blueberry bushes

and corn we used to shuck on stools.




Squash and broccoli

that they took such sad pride in,

the sunflowers

which were all my own.

Long stems that grew in iron soil

whose seeds were only good for eating

but as a child I was allowed to choose—

I donated them to the winged.