midnight (these rituals of recreation)

midnight (these rituals of recreation)

i. midnight

i walk into the bedroom just before midnight

watching the digital clock shift from 11:59 to 12:00

after a hard bicycle ride into fading daylight

followed by dinner and beer among those friends

and then i notice the familiar shape of you in my bed

although we haven’t seen each other in over a year

although you belong now completely to someone else

you stir awake and smile at me through a stretch-yawn

don’t shower you purr still yawning slide in with me

it’s been so long since we’ve held each other you know

ii. dreaming

[as i dream i begin to wonder if i am dreaming]

i lie on the couch alone

watching my DVD of David Lynch’s Lost Highways

i am also re-reading Haruki Murakami’s A Wild Sheep Chase

this time it is the hardback first edition i bought for you

between the film and the novel

coursing through dreaming and contemplating if this is a dream

i think about the possibility of worm holes

and children sliding through giant tubes at the playground

iii. morning

i wake to the smell of coffee brewing

but no one has started the coffee maker

and then i am standing outside in cool spring sunshine

the dew-covered grass almost too green to bear

you were no longer in the bed beside me (of course)

i cannot be sure if we were really intertwined last night

although your voice rests in the hollow of my ears

and then i suddenly drop into an imagined scene

i return to the bedroom for your clothes in the hamper

i wash and then dry them before separating each piece

i smooth your t-shirts carefully straightening the hems

before stacking them over the back of the recliner

thinking of your cat bringing mice to your doormat

gestures of love and devotion offered on padded feet

creature of habit in these rituals of recreation

i start the coffee and inhale the you of entered rooms

the kindness school (beyond the archeology of white people, pt. 2)

the kindness school (beyond the archeology of white people, pt. 2)

it simply happened one day

when the teachers decided

enough was enough

all the boys with OCD

spent the day playing drums

or riding their bicycles

and the introverts sat quietly

smiling periodically in the corners

while the extroverts laughed and laughed

and soon the pleasures became many

as varied as the children themselves

until one day a child stood to proclaim

after reading Hamlet all on her own

“I say, we will have no more tests”

to which there was thunderous cheering

yes it seemed simple and obvious enough

the founding of the kindness school

with open doors and children singing

the archeology of white people

the archeology of white people

I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park

“Pink Rabbits,” The National

“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds.

“It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such—such beautiful shirts before.”

Daisy, The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

we gather into schools all our children

red brown yellow black and white

leaving them all blue

we continue to serve them the food

of Fitzgerald and Hemingway

the archeology of white people

a Lost Generation fabricated to fool

cigarettes chandeliers and swimming pools

such glorious decadent people

we pull the wool over this rainbow of eyes

all lined up in rows of pastel shirts

like Jordan almonds or Easter eggs

“In his blue gardens men and girls

came and went like moths

among the whispering

and the champagne and the stars.”

Ignore the body in the road

we whisper in their tiny innocent ears

Isn’t that golden car spectacular?

which came first (or does it matter): out of nothing

which came first (or does it matter): out of nothing

which came first

my feeling as if i don’t exist in our world

or you behaving as if i don’t exist in our world

or does it matter

i know i am prone to feeling the stranger

i admit i am not much like other people

i confess that i have almost never felt a part

and i tend to slip into analysis and distancing

which came first

my feeling as if i don’t exist in our world

or you behaving as if i don’t exist in our world

or does it matter

i suspect it doesn’t matter in the end

because what is done is done and after the fact

and i fear worlds cannot be reconstructed

once one planet becomes two other worlds

which came first

my feeling as if i don’t exist in our world

or you behaving as if i don’t exist in our world

or does it matter

turning this end of us into a chicken-and-egg debate

this is not my best side or even lovable

and i know i am picking this argument over us

although i am beyond debates and winning wars

which came first

my feeling as if i don’t exist in our world

or you behaving as if i don’t exist in our world

or does it matter

asteroids are lifeless remnants but so are most planets

but that is not what two people in love should become

although again i am not arguing about us or even forever

as i gather the dust and rubble to keep up appearances

which came first

my feeling as if i don’t exist in our world

or you behaving as if i don’t exist in our world

or does it matter

and that may be my final act of love and peace

conceding to you appearances and silence about this

ghost walking now we two together and always apart

because people can pass through each other when not looking

which came first

my feeling as if i don’t exist in our world

or you behaving as if i don’t exist in our world

or does it matter

i’ve manufactured this dilemma out of nothing i suppose

like forcing you to choose between a tornado and a hurricane

guaranteeing only the possibility of some natural disaster

the inevitable rearranging and disintegration of us

which came first

my feeling as if i don’t exist in our world

or you behaving as if i don’t exist in our world

or does it matter

i take thirteen steps and the floor falls out from under me

i am untethered but somehow not set free in this orbit

although i have lost my heart entirely to someone else

who has also chosen not to choose me and my disasters

she drew herself

she drew herself *

she drew herself

not into a ball

not into her lungs

but on a canvas

soft pencil curves

sketched into her

* inspired by Wendy Farrow

recognition (the proximity of imagined cars)

recognition (the proximity of imagined cars)

I have only two emotions

Careful fear and dead devotion

I can't get the balance right

“Don’t Swallow the Cap,” The National

i do not recognize friends from 35 years ago

even when they are sitting next to me at a bar

until they speak and then the ones i knew return to me

masked behind new faces those years have sculpted

just as i do not recognize me in the mirrors of my day

inverted and creased at the corners of my eyes now

•

i have come to recognize that i cannot wish into reality

i cannot render real by waving a magic wand of words

no this is not a David Lynch movie

i have to remind myself along with breathing deeply

i’ll not be willing myself out of this prison and into your world

where you stand nude illuminated by headlights in a desert night

but i would recognize you anywhere

any time

you pass me in a car that i have never seen

you are wearing a silver thumb ring

and your hair is dyed auburn

i do not see your tattoo

or meet my eyes with yours

but i would recognize you anywhere

•

i do recognize the rush of recognition and proximity

the sudden heavy hollowness of my chest

everything else of this world falling away

the terrible calm of putting you back together again

i watch the car i have never seen before

disappear ahead of me and i hold onto you

freshly pressed into my mind weighted

by a silver thumb ring and auburn hair

•

do you think of me as i do you

do you think of me still

do you

do you

do you

i pass by you unnoticed

a sudden gust of sand

forcing you to shut your eyes

and turn your head suddenly

although you seem to recognize

a faint sing-song incantation

wonderland (Yen To Dollar pt. 2)

wonderland (Yen To Dollar pt. 2)

"There's a science to walking through windows"

“Graceless,” The National

Yen To Dollar found herself by the ocean

a young woman now completely of the island

there were days when she was alone, very alone

the morning cool in the bright rising sun of spring

she could not recall what had brought her to the shore

could not fathom how the dominoes had fallen

tracing the path that led her to a life filled with wonder

a view of ceaseless water reaching to the horizon arc

but she could and often did imagine a man, Tarame

(she had never known and had never even seen him)

who sat near the ocean carving matchstick sculptures

who had everything swept out to sea in a hurricane

who never had a daughter and tasted bitter solitude

she went beyond imagining to feeling as if this were she

•

often sitting by herself

unable to reform her past

Yen To Dollar would ask aloud

“Tarame, what are you telling me?”

and then she was flooded with longing

knowing the wordless messages

only imagined and never lived like faeries

that ride on ocean breezes and tides

•

she believed in the possibility

that with a scalpel

she would be able to separate

dream memory imagination

and come to understand

this moment when she was a child

in a hotel room at the beach with her parents

she walked into a shut sliding glass door

drawn to the balcony by seagulls and ocean

•

once as she sat watching a small child cry

standing in the sand as her family walked away

Yen To Dollar recognized herself transfixed

not Japanese not American
only this child rightfully named Anomaly

no one loved the curve of her ear

no one longed for the sound of her voice

no one waited for her in the bed she slept in

none of these gifts in her bones

and all this shook her

like a glass door she could not see

but felt as she stepped through it

lamb of my heart, you (on being sheepless)

lamb of my heart, you (on being sheepless)

“One morning I awoke and the sheep was gone. It was then I understood what it meant to be ‘sheepless.’ Sheer hell. The sheep goes away leaving only an idea.” The Sheep Professor, A Wild Sheep Chase, Haruki Murakami

lamb of my heart, you

you wrapped in laurel

you secreted behind barn doors

this lingering always, you

you whispering in my dreams

you laid healing hands on me

lamb of my heart, you

you i buy a hardback book

you in absence i build this library

my wild sheep chase, you

you only you on the mountain

you a star like a birthmark in the sky

lamb of my heart, you

you entered me long ago

you gone remain in me always

you

lamb of my heart, you

michael has a beautiful voice

michael has a beautiful voice

michael has a beautiful voice

all wordless

& sound

michael has a beautiful voice

all lost

& found

just a microphone & him

just lyrics & aloud

all lightness & dim

all cavern & cloud

mystery of sympathy & never ending lore

ambiguity of personality & ceaseless shore

what are you singing, michael

what can't you say

what are you mouthing, michael

what do you pray

michael has a beautiful voice

like tinsel

& snow

michael has a beautiful voice

like catching fire

& throw

place these words on your face

kiss them off with a sigh

dust us all with feathers

falling from the sky

michael has a beautiful voice

piercing silence

            range

michael has a beautiful voice

turn your cheek

            change

Yen To Dollar (notes on a gifted child as an adult)

Yen To Dollar (notes on a gifted child as an adult)

Each time I peeled another ten-thousand-yen note from the wad of bills in my pocket.

The wad showed no sign of going down no matter how many bills I used.

A Wild Sheep Chase, Haruki Murakami

this is the thing her parents had given her

a name: Yen To Dollar

they even capitalized the “To”

which they always highlighted when telling the story

her mother Japanese, her father American

Yen To Dollar was raised in America

she heard the explanation of her name thousands of times

until she would appreciate it only when they could no longer tell it

•

people spoke of her parents with labels you’d expect

bohemian

artistic

gifted

labels tossed at her like small stones and sometimes bricks

and rarely like a bolder rolled down a mountain and over her

•

although she never dreamed of dragons or mythological sheep

she often found sprites in her photographs of streams

so in her great and constant solitude even when with other people

Yen To Dollar was overwhelmed and always overwhelming

like the amount of yen needed to buy something very expensive

something truly unnecessary and frivolous in an American store