At 23 (for Bob Green--not the famous one)

Our mutual friend

had told you

how I used to be Queen of a very small tribe.

"It seems almost..." I said, hesitating.

"Like it really happened?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"It did happen, but now

things are so different that it seems

ridiculous."

I sat there,

shot full of arrows like Saint Sebastian--

like him, not dying

but split and empty like a dead pew.

There are more gospels than they let on, you know.

This man loaned me two records--

Joni Mitchell

and It's a Beautiful Day.

Like poetry, it was love for life for me--

Hot Summer Day and Sweet Fire.

I left Illinois not long after

to Gypsy it in a small car with two teachers

off for the summer.

We read Richard Brautigan,

and wandered the bars in New Orleans, then Galveston

where I left both my crown and my grave in a coin laundry

on a Sunday morning.

______

Consultation at the Hospital

 

The doctor said,

"This is what I found

inside her."

An orange

a white horse with one hoof up

Roberta Flack 'First Take' on vinyl

A river, rushing over smooth stones

and a knitting needle

through her heart.

The family sagged to one side a little

like a tent in wind.

The father said,

"You're talking nonsense."

The mother said nothing.

The husband said,

"Are you sure you had the right patient?

   I could sue."

The best friend said,

"Of course you did." 

"Where is the orange?" 

the mother asked.

"I ate the orange."

"There was no horse,"

insisted the father.

"There was a herd."

The best friend smiled 

but was silent.

The husband looked at his watch.

The mother added,

"If there was a knitting needle

through her heart,

she must have put it there herself."

The father waved his hand

and walked away.

The husband said,

"I wonder what all this will cost?."

The best friend asked

if she could see her.

The mother leaned on her husband

and walked away 

carrying her purse

and her bag of knitting.

____________

for Dverse Meeting the Bar. "Magical Realism" 

Music: Roberta Flack No Way To Say Goodbye

Saint Agnes On The Bus

 

On a bus in the city

on a slush-spattered morning

St. Agnes rode quiet to her grave.

Her sister was praying

her ear buds were playing

a song that was slow, sad, and brave.

The driver was sleeping

on a cushion of roses

and the wheel was a garland of sand

St. Agnes was pure

as few ever can be

mending wounds with a gold rubber band.

On the streets there were dogs

and they spoke of a healing

that cures every creature entire

St. Agnes is holy

and her sister is humbled

by the cost such devotion requires.

The bus turned to ashes

and the souls of the riders

had to carry all the things they must learn

St. Agnes beheaded

her sister lamented

that glory, to be sweet, must be stern.

_____________

On the Occasion of my 39th Sobriety Anniversary

 

You ask nothing of me that you do not share in every detail.

In a desert place, on the edge of a precipice, you found me

and took every wound upon yourself.

You bled where I bled, and that is as real as it gets.

You offered your hand but left it to me whether to take it. 

I did, and knew that I would never fall, then or ever,

and here I stand, Never Alone, sober and strong

Not because of any book or pulpit, but because

a workman found me in a desert place and gave me His hand. 

______

My 39th sobriety anniversary was last month. One day at a time. 

Emily the Innocent

 

Our Lady of the Upstairs Apartment

tired saints sharing cushions on her couch

welcomes you with chocolate or a half mint

and her kiss at the corner of your mouth

The landlord carries rain in a bucket

collected from the cripples in the hall

no desert-born demon can obstruct it

if a judgment or her lashes start to fall

Our Lady of the Wooden Table Kitchen

serves you holy water in a little cup

and speaks to you in such a soothing diction

the bedtime tales the sofa boys made up

The weary stars lie down upon her rooftop

and she covers them with blankets made of smoke

In the morning they roll cigarettes and wonder

at the comforts as they slept she kindly spoke

Our Lady of the Upstairs Apartment

with her crosses made from cherry wood or teak

she laughs and calls you Emily the Innocent

and leaves you with her kiss upon your cheek.

Safe House

 

Welcome to the safe house.

No one will find you here.

The ambulance is like a big rolling cotton ball, isn't it?

The siren has been modified to sound like a waterfall.

Please do not share this location with spouses or children--yours or not.   

Their tread on the white front steps would jar the keyboard of your recovery.

Meet helpers Jenny and George in their clean gray smocks. 

Yes, it's hard to tell which is which!

Many guests forget them even as they stand there smiling. 

In the parlor we have an electric fireplace

and framed Kincades on the eggshell walls.

We ask that you leave your red hats and rainbows with Susie at the door.

A few teensy tiny rules:

no weapons

no newspapers

no Facebook

no over-exertion

no stimulants

no sex

no drama

no poetry.

In a week or two, the nightmares should stop,

along with any disquieting longings or regrets. 

Non-attachment is our way.

You may even levitate, like a balloon.

If you get confused, just follow the white tape on the beige tile.

It can be difficult--even for staff! --to tell the bedrooms from the morgue.

_________

for What's Going On? "Safe". 

Music: the Pretenders Every Day Is Like Sunday

The Word Garden Word List is still HERE through Sunday!