“He heard the rhythmic troubling obscenities of saxophones.”William Faulkner, Soldier’s PayI met Wayne Shorter in a dreamsomewhere in a sunny club,light pouring through the windows,bouncing off the beach,slinging diamonds off eachcresting wave. He smiled,picked up his tenorand started playing Footprints,the repetition of the riffbecoming a prayer, notesblending with the waves, therhythm becoming a chant,the shore... Continue Reading →
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Look mama by the mailbox didn’t the flowers just come out they’re already dyingWill he cut one of meto fadefar from my familydisplayedin glass so he need notstoop and rememberdirthimself unselved in Spanish today we learned selva means forestanything that decomposes words into letters in English class we’re singing w x y and z now... Continue Reading →
the egrets have returnedafter the pyrotechnicsthe screeching and suddenpopsafter the noise cannonsthe lasers and the loppingoff of thick branchesafter men in hazard suitsstumble about cursingcomplaining of the smellwar against white birdswith crowns resting atopcurved necksevery day they flyto the landfillto snack on insectsbuzzing above garbageand interfere with aircraftaccording to the Air Forceaccording to the cityand... Continue Reading →
A whisper mere rustle of wind oran exhalation-howcan it haveconsciousness yetjust below the threshold ofhuman perception it voicedthoughtvibrations, which her violin resonated with-disquieting,leaving her wondering who was out there, invisible but present or prescientperhaps decedent? “Dad?” her father an immigrant peasanthis passion for musicgifted to her- Dead Silenceshe sighs, picks up her bow andon... Continue Reading →
drizzle of polka dotsnot dapple colored but tricklinga polish polka as they blithely dropyet why such merrimentin fallingto their death-their tiny time much better spentjoyfully dancing, not mourning wetlytearyuntil they hit the groundso hard and dryto splash and die Read More in Poetry
Never quiet, the graves back home,Mom prodding Pop in their bed, “You’re snoring!”Grandma exclaiming to Grandpa for the millionth time,“Smoking that pipe will kill you someday,” and Great-grandpa in Czech-laced exasperation remindingbullheaded Great-grandma to “Talk American!”Ear protection is desirable, given Cousin Benny’sraunchy jokes, Uncle Emmanuel’s swearing aboutsome poker hand dealt him, and garrulousUncle Henry’s bending... Continue Reading →
Dragged here by my friend,I see nothing poetic. I hear nothing poetic.Just crack and zing and boom.Crack and zing and boom.In the booth next to us,a big guy shoots an AK-47.In my hands, I hold a rifle.I sit atop a stool. The same thumbthat rests on the stocksupports the shaft of a pencil. The same... Continue Reading →
