Poetry and Lies People Tell

Some things, I have to admit, are just too complicated, too immensely horrible to even wrap my mind around. All these years, I had to simplify this--make it cut and dry--so that I could move on with my life but right at this moment I want something--I want answers. I wish I knew the truth. I just needed to say that.


Here are some poems I wrote back when I was an undergrad. These are about my life.

TITTLE-TATTLE

Long lake limbs,
slim middle paraded,
wind strummed,
composed—grow effects.
Not all attached—
they stay
anyway. Drawn,
not for lack
of wingspan—
A comfort pillow
of crests,
jumping pads,
houses on
wheels anchored.
Toes crinkled
and wobbly, sustain
the deck for
white bread
floating kindly.

ALASKA 

  

Alaska is the place where

Mitchell was still alive and puffing,

the paternal adults were

married, we all went to 

church, the building of

crosses and glory, where the

house was big and 

yellow like the flower who 

resembles the sun,

and the snowflakes melt into 

break-up and mud-

pies and dragonflies like little 

bulldogs with green 

wings, and flowers pop-up

through, into purple

hills with frogs and mosquitoes,

where the sun cowers 

to the snowflakes falling like 

starwars giving way to 

moon-boots, not break-up

boots, the husky dog

with no tail, blue eyed—white

Diablo likes the mittens

and baby frostbites on my nose 

while me-n-Joe slide down 

on orange plastic, praying for

hot cocoa with some

marshmallows floating in the sky

on top of my valley 

tucked away deep inside of Alaska...

AT AGE TWELVE

The last time
I was her:
I stepped down off
the bus and walked
into the blur
that lived there
with us growing
stock into Dad’s
brain as if it was
the Bible itself—
with its crammed
values jumbled like drugs.

Those sirens
hovering
on pebbles in our driveway,
waiting
to pluck our home
until rutted like clay,
pressed too hard
in the wrong flaw
to have let it
cure strong.