Saturday, May 28, 2011

February 10, 1982

It’s bright! It’s cold!—
I don’t wanna get out of bed!
I’m not fully awake.

I’m surrounded by strangers, naked no less.
There’s a mirror set before me—
Everyone sees the seven-pound blob I’ve become.

Someone in mask, cap, and glove
Takes me, cleans me, wraps me in warmth
Though it’s not the warmth I knew before.

There is one whose voice I recognize;
She holds me close, smiles at me.
She waits for me to open my eyes...

I’m not ready to wake up—I need more time.
Give me another three to six decades...
Then, maybe, I’ll understand why I’m here. 

Monday, May 16, 2011

December 1, 1995

It’s a few weeks to Christmas.
I peek into my little red stocking
And see a lonely lump of coal.

Surely, Santa didn’t give me this.
He’s busy double-checking his lists;
The sleigh’s still in the shop. No, no――

I think I know these prints, these
Black smudges soiling my sock.
See, Santa never leaves a trace;

Even when he dishes coal,
He does so with a silent grace
Not this appalling ruckus.

It appears I received this ugly stone
As a going-away presentand yet
I had only arrived not long ago.

My holiday will not be happy;
Before long I may cease to believe
That reindeer know how to fly.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Persephone and Hades (revised)

I pick flowers one morning in my valley
As I walk on to begin another day.
I have never known any pain,
Under the umbrella of my mother’s love.

Diem perdidi! My days are lost
To rusted metal and screeching wheels;
I shall never know the world again
For I have left my dear Olympus.

You drag me far below the Earth
And lock me away with your dead,
Reteaching me the concept of love
And building for me a dungeon of sheets.
Three years pass; I know the cost of a cat
And in exchange I pay with pain――
Three-fourths of the year, incapacitated!
My days of youth and joy have now died.

Four more years—the brooding season returns.
My young belly swells once again.
By now I beg to be free――
But alas, slapped silent! So I write it down.

You keep me “home,” feeding me books
And a pantry of sour arils;      
I again see light, two-thirds of the year,
But under the distortion of haze.
You claim yourself divinity
And tell me to worship sex;
My girls become your altar boys
And I, your temple prostitute.

Has the cold heart of Hades become aflame?
Have you finally seen the face of God?
You have now shed your devilish mask
And released me from your shadows.

For eighteen years I forget the Sun
But in her place find two brilliant lights;
They shall shine on, now and always
Among their divine sister stars.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Purge Scenario #3

Alone, in the dark,
Outside of your house...

I’m screaming.
I’m screaming...

All falls silent.
Fall silent.