weewoo

I dream you are alive
almost every night.
Six years ago today...you were only two
and mom and I
huddled in the den
and told Gramp...
he had better not leave for church
Grammy wanted to leave today
to meet the holy angels
she always thought she saw.

That den
I wrote my first long poem
in that room
on Easter day I
had finished gathering
so many eggs

you
stayed there sometimes.
In that room, you watched movies
the same ones over
and over
and always sang along like
it was the first time you
saw that light
heard that noise.

Last night when I played with you
in my sleep, I knew you were dead.
but also You were real
and made the sweetest sounds
and wanted to be right by me.

But during the night of January 25th
I cannot sleep
without walking the line between birth and
death
and
always waking to listen for breathing
to
run down the hall to the den
and put my head near grammy's face to
let her know I am still there and
see if she is.

When we played last night, you sat on my chest.
I tried to make the inoutinout of my breathing
become yours but
I knew.

I want to tell you
that your friend is okay.
That he sings and has
sort of made friends with me.
We watch videos of you
being smart and beautiful and he
sings along with you.

I want to tell you
that you are my best friend.
That you never minded when I made
you get back in the car--
back out of the car-
back in the car again
and you always woke up and laughed
at the sound the coins made
when I tossed them into the cylinder at the toll booth.

I want to tell you that
I am sorry for the time I
fell asleep in Ludington
when we were in the middle of a game
and
I was never really mad
that you bit me to wake me up.

I want to tell you that
when I think of the primary colors,
I get confused between the real ones and
your five.
Because sometimes all I can see
is that you were
in my room with me
in Ypsilanti
in Brighton
in Ann Arbor
in Ludington
in Maryland
in the room through
every argument I have had
with anyone who mattered enough to argue over something
in my room with me
every time I didn't want to talk
in my car with me
every time I ran away
I was always running from something
but never ever from you

You would lay on your back in my hand
full of trust and laugh always
and I just want you to know
I have not let go.

Spppt!

there are holes in the ground created by

too much rain.

then frozen over and covered in snow.

but when they bear too much weight it is not long til

the sound of breaking glass

and one falls through

to the nexus of gap and clay we

tread too heavily on that which we never

resolve.

Sea Street Soup

The fans spins in the window
unplugged
flooded streets; spilled over Susquehanna and
salty sea water lapping up motor oil and laughing at cars skidding
over low passes

In a town shop window I saw a photo
taken from atop Buddy's Crabs and Ribs
just after Hurricane Isabelle.
Dogs swimming after floating dinner plates and
boats docked at parking meters.
I want to dress in my finest lifevest and stroll these streets
after rainfall with you.

Estuary

Hanging on my wall
the map we used to lean against
on the floor mattress at Huron View
bodies of water we were
pressed against edges of
MichiganSuperiorStClairHuronErie
Eerie
how we were bodies of water,too
but mobile
traversed
across bridges to bays an
estuary
sounds like nest but
not so much like home
although you are
but now- flowing backwards from the mouth to the source
we travel gaily with this weight
we carry with us all
canteens of fresh water gasping for air
and coming out on the surface filled with
new images
what we look like underwater
what you look like beside it
how we feel
when we are
home.

Out of Decay Grows

Folding blue towels too many weeks in a row; I inch dust off my typewriter
nod: too long, too long.

We spring backhand, forehand over lawns, throwing Frisbee for the dog and grinning smiles like still gap-toothed but instead yellowed- not quite certain if we were kids.
playing loud our favorite songs and singing them to each other’s faces.
Our paychecks are ice-cream and long car rides to cities we'd like to live in; you address me 'darling', I I call you Mr. Grant and we
decorate vast kitchens in our heads spinning like records we've played
since we were tall enough to lift the needle; I hand you my hand.

In the wintertime, I got up earlier than you and defrosted my car
which was missing a window.
I made coffee and breathed in your ear to have a good day, and wonder:
do you take that advice to heart?

Now it's spring again. You shaved your hair and we still lay together in the same bed.
I ask can I be your shelf? I'd like for you to keep things resting in me. I'd like to house your words.

I remember: when I sprained my ankle last summer and you held me up. I will help you reach light bulbs, will help you paint houses, will plant you a tree
so that in the fall we can watch it change colors decay;
exclaim in red shock upon the ground and we will shrug,
smile: say, well, it will always come back in the spring.

Take Me

(Take Me)


Take One
you have an hour to go insane.
they/
handed you visine and a paper cutter with
notations to
get to work
think:
of a time you hurt
like that think:
of being small think:
of losing someone to:
lightening to:
saber-toothed tiger to:
insurance policies to:
another woman in:
bed with your lover he's:
your lover because:
you love him now she's:
loving the parts of him you are watching
harden with
rigor mortis before:
your very visine eyes they say:
“Good now cough.
(cough deep)
you are choking your
sectioned insides out in gags in:
tears. you:
should claw at
bare skin of:
yours you:

Take Two.

“Please. i need you to recall:
a time it cut like this like:
your father not knowing you your:
mother loving too much you:
...great!”
now:
racking sobs like dirt bruised baby dolls on:
sidewalks you are:
young and don't know if that means he's leaving home your:
cheek is bleeding out long division you:
"...No, No! Cut! that should be:
- Please, No, Samuel,
not: Justice. There is no Justice"
(there is no Justice)

Take Three
(more visine, more slap slapping more draft more lightbulb more flickering more: come on, sweet cheeks, we haven't got all day)
picture:
throw your computer onto the rocks on the:
rapids
(ly)
pack your car with all of nothing they are:
offerings refused you have
frankincense spilled across your foot, leg gashed with iron turn:
the key and drive away.
drive back.
unpack.
prostrate to another facet of your naked emotions and
dead attempt.
dead attempt.
your partner is:
not.
your part...
pack the car again.
drive away.
parakeet prattling in the seat beside you toss:
another roll of quarters to buy your way into sanctity over tollbooth after tollbooth bridges (burnt) in
Superior.
Chicago. He:
doesn't even remember how to say your name
like he's saying it to you and not
eulogy we:

"Great! great! we have the scene! that's it!
now a moment of the L1 camera over Samuel's body we:
thank you Miss Kelly, that will be all."

are the moments between make believe and fuck you.

Docile / Domestic

I pound pinatas of you to
the walls in my bedroom, blindfold you and hand you a bat:
there is an alley of light between
your weapon and
the proper point of contact
which is why I have covered your eyes
I want you to know:
which part to caress.
which part to dissect.
which part to impale.

When you have finished
thrashing about and
deconstructing the parts
of you which mean hollow,
house wrappers and
low resolution eyebrows,
I will have time to teach you things.
And somehow, this seems to be why you come here
in the first place.

Seal your lips.
I will write you a check.
For the kind of music you listen to on Sundays with
croissants
coffee
a bed:less large.

Tie your hands.
I'll make a plaque for your wall
stating your accomplishments
out of macaroni and poster paint fingerprints.

I'll build you a house out of cotton panties and
phone calls to my mother
but first
you must raise your hands above your head.
And promise to obey.