She came, Sweet/bitter, like blackstrap molasses. Her skin was black tea, Her voice was black earth. She embraced me and that was the moon in eclipse; She breathed in my bones, and my bones bent to her.
She stayed, Like rain falling on the dark river. She rocked me all night As both lover and child. She kissed me, and that was the moon in obscurement; Her touch was black lilies, and her touch was light. ______
"Talent hits a target no one else can hit; genius hits a target no one else can see." --Arthur Schopenhauer
Mama Gator stand up on those little back legs. She dab on lipstick. She marry a man what's goin somewhere.
Mama Gator clean the house til it beg her stop. She pretend her tail a train. She crank out two nassy little boy gators.
Oh what was I thinkin Steppin into that hell? What was I in for Still drippin shell?
Mama Gator scared tea ladies smell swamp on her. She say don't touch me. She sweep up her dropped scales in a right rush.
All the while She smile.
Mama Gator say Girl, you ugly. Girl, you nassy. Just keep goin like you are, And you find out how that be.
What the neighbor's think? What will people say? Girl, come to Mama, So she can tell you go away.
Got a little soft beatin heart, Let Mama tear that shit apart. You as shiny as a twice-washed dish. You not my daughter. You not worth spit. You're like your father, You little bitch.
Mama see and Mama know Just how deep the deep can go. Mama grab and Mama roll But now she do it all alone.
There was a war, and as with all wars, Glory fell dead in her boots the first week. The Orthodox priests were there as we boarded the trains. They blessed us, Made the sign of the cross and assured us That the God who made us, down to the smallest sinew and bone, Wished for us to be shoveled Like coal Into the fire of insanity Which breeds behind the shining eyes of rulers. What did we care about the French, licking pastry crumbs from their fingers, Or the English? At Masurian Lakes and Tannenburg, we were guided to our doom by imbeciles, And for what? Let Willie have Poland; We cared nothing for it. We cared for bread, and shoes, and getting the lice out of our hair.
The Little Father came to rally us-- He did not carry the stars inside his coat. No sign of Divine favor radiated from him. He was a runt; I wanted to stand him on a crate and then face the crate toward an executionary detail. He would fall, you know, Just as we did.
The next day, My horse was hit in the flank, and the wound became infected. I had to shoot him myself. That was different, a greater obscenity, Than killing strangers for no reason; I realized that our beasts, Dumb brutes that they were, Were holy Compared to the imps who compelled us to be part of this.
There was a war, and like all wars, It was a devil bathing in blood, Washing filthy vileness into us And setting screaming nightmares loose inside our riven skulls. So don't ask me to tell you about it-- I left my tongue there, Torn out and mute, Fodder for empire, Profaned and lying speechless in the mud. _______
Pussycat, Pussycat, where have you been? I've been to sea, and it turned my eyes green. I lived on a boat and I bobbed on the blue. I caught all the fish to put into my stew. Mermaids and Selkies fell in love with me, But I came back to shore to get on tv!
(His agent is Cloudia. Image used with her permission.)
Oh honey, good for you-- For the bread you won and the dragons you slew. It's enough to make a feminine heart flutter. Who is she? Who is she? No matter.
All day I read the Tarot-- Some cards up, some cards down. Some turn their back, some show their face, But the cards themselves do not change. Every morning: The Hanged Man. Every afternoon: The Lightning-Struck Tower. (And the dragon's tail Of hours.)
Perhaps this is why The dragons came to me, Despite the ones we ate, and the ones you slew. There are more-- more more more more more more more more. They filled the yard, rang the bell. What was I supposed to do?
One at a time, I took them in-- To my confidence. To my bed. They told me how they grieve, and dream. And, oh, The other things they said to me!
Honey, how I admire you-- For the bread you won, and the dragons you slew. The deep scratches on my skin are from baking. The smell of cordite in my hair is from The salon, Or from taking the kids to school.
How glad I am, As I cool myself in the limpid pool of our evenings together, That you find my nattering pleasant; Like a woman standing on the next-closest planet, Singing to you in a pretty foreign language. _______
KITTY
You like Kitty when Kitty is nice. I love Kitty all the time.
You like to toss Kitty up in the air. I love to let Kitty sleep in my hair.
When you call Kitty, she hisses and spits. When I call Kitty, she comes close and sits.
You like for Kitty not to rankle. I love how Kitty twists 'round your ankle.
Upsy-daisy, down the stairs; When we land, brand new pairs. _________
BLACK CATS
Here is where you were wrong-- Black cats are not bad luck.
I am a nice girl, and you should not have set me on fire. Is that how your mama taught you to do?
Here is a bowl of dove tears-- Wash in them. It won't do any good, but at least you'll feel like you're doing something; Not just sitting on the tracks Looking like you just lost your best friend.
So many times, we missed the boat, Stepping into thin air, like wobbling bowling pins.
This is my hand, cupping your face. These are our beautiful memories, like butterflies on a board-- Is it my fault that they fly right into your head Whenever you don't keep yourself occupied?
We quarreled, and you set me on fire. It happens, and I bear you no grudge; But witch that I am, My ashes grew eyes, and landed on their feet. Do you see, now, how wrong you were? Black cats are not bad luck. ______
top picture: Gregory Crewdson. middle picture:Michael Parkes. last picture unknown source.
The Word Garden consists of original poems written by me, Shay a.k.a. Fireblossom. Please stop a while and enjoy them. But don't pick the blooms that you find here, they must not be planted elsewhere without permission of the author.
