afterlife

when they let him out the man walked down the street and
everything
was pretty much how he thought it would be
but maybe that was just him.

once in awhile he checked the news
the ink on his fingers the same old annoyance
but jiminy cricket,
he was in a land of white white white
and one day
the sheet under his hand and not plush at all mind you
more like a marble slab and so there was that to think of
and no way to roll to his preferred sleeping side. more than once
if he let his mind:
evidently, hell.
until he found the thumbprint thunderstorm on the white where
his hand rested
his own perfect storm
he pressed his finger onto the sheet
then spread his fingers into a wave
hello to the top sheet

and the girl who came in every day
the girl from one of those places where they round everyone up
and kill them
who had obviously and miraculously escaped
but did not ask her because he no longer spoke
thus the newspapers she brought
and a small white cup
with a small white pill

which made no sense even to him.
did they want him to read or sleep
the next time the doctor came in he said hello editor
(no joking in hell evidently)
so they stopped the cup.
the girl still brought the papers and one day
made a sound when she saw
Big Thumb Daddy making waves
a nice inky row he had been working on
since the sports section
a sound his mother had made when he had done something,
maybe broken a thing she had loved
or forgotten to wipe his shoes

and wagged her finger.
a universal and emphatic No No
like a priest talking to god moving his hand
back and forth
parting the waters
up and down
a paperboy spreading the news
when the wrong person died.

breaking news

   

one of the first things she learned:
no talking during the news.

they waited with the remote,
in his hands 
and he would tap the armrest and his leg 
with it, when things got crazy
at playoff time or sometimes,
the mess with Tiger Woods 
he would wave it and point
and she more than once prayed the sony
would not be blown to smithereens.
thank god Hilary was not on the news as much
she said but the girl turned to stir the goop in the little green tray
and her ears were burning so she was not sure if she heard or not
as they so often did now that she was going lighter,
but it was worth it.
around eight forty-five it would fall
just before the news
but if shit had hit the fan
he held it in both hands and kept it aimed right at the red spot
to keep the signal clear, to keep
the connection
to make sure he did not miss a word
which he repeated to her.
if she tried to hold his hand it had to be the left.
if she tried and it was a tornado or
the big kahuna hit honey! (Katrina) or the whole enchilada 
just washed away a bunch of vacationers! (the asian tsunami) 
he would switch to the chair upsetting
the cat
and Mr. Cat Fur Butt
as she called him in the kitchen watching the kernels spin and stew
melting butter,  filling the kibble dish, the his-n-hers bowls his bigger
she heard him laugh then cough
a small and very odd cough
and thought:
maybe it's the big kahuna,
maybe
the whole enchilada this time,
shaking the pan back and forth
back and forth,
slowly he had shown her so it would not burn
and she heard plastic, maybe the metal ticking thing inside
a sort of thump, a sputter
that could have been a fur ball
as what kept them both tethered to the world
hit the floor.

light of day

This morning he will go to school and hear about his friend's trip to the Olympics, and one who played on a beach in Maui and another who flew somewhere but can not remember where. Just that it was a trip and an amusement park, and hotdogs. He will listen and nod and maybe begin drawing, looking down as they talk, listening. He will begin either an elaborate and very detailed battle scene: droids, escape pods, at least two light sabers. Or else something I will think at first is scaffolding, a beautifully thin structure rising against a background of white paper. With perspective he will say when I ask how did he get it to look that way, like a very very tall tower and those windows getting smaller like it was all far far away? 


And when they stop talking and wander away to see the hermit crab in its aquarium or to get a drink of water he will keep drawing, until the teacher rings the little bell and now it is time for class everyone. He will stand and cross his hands over his chest (a Waldorf thing, centering the child and focusing on the will) forget to keep his feet together and his lips will move as the morning verse is said, the class clown in the row behind him not saying a word of it. And he will keep his eyes on the drawing and be planning the next detail:


possibly a different life and new parents, ones that will take him to Lego Land or at least, Target. Camping in the summer and a motel with two beds and a pool. To the movies and also, skiing. Snowboard lessons and the Space Needle because it is right here and how hard can that be. There would be a tree house with a ladder and its own refrigerator, no barbies allowed sign on the door, no battle droids. No Barney the purple but a sleepover with marshmallows and Lucky Charms for breakfast, anything he wants and can not have. Maybe George Lucas as dad, or Master Yoda. 


And not a mother who says someday or I wish we could but we can't or when Dad gets a new job, the someday scariest of those things because where exactly does he find a someday and will he know it when he sees it and what then. Who will be in the someday and will there still be legos and what about parents, do they go to the someday place or do they stay where someday never seems to come, where they close the door and he can hear them talking but not what they say; and how does he get to the someday that his parents have talked about, the one he never asks for because he just does not. He is not one of those asking kids who go waaa give it to me who say I want that when mom is unloading the cart at the checkout. He has seen those kids and thinks they have a problem but then the mom usually gives them the thing so they have a problem but also the thing so maybe there is also luck.  He asked once what is luck and mom talked about no such thing but choice, which made no sense. So when mom and dad said let's walk down to the beach he said it was a dumb beach and they said what? and then mom and how lucky and kids in Haiti and dad just said we're going whether or not. The crab with two legs gone lifted its claws like praise the lord! mom said and she laughed and waved her hand so the crab did it again, maybe halleluja the second time; a new word he had never heard that he could not picture but it had a nice sound, maybe somebody's name in a place where they spoke a different language, maybe Vancouver at the Olympics. The waves kept going out and the seagulls clacked the clams onto the rocks and then some beach glass he knew mom would really really like and a weird rusted thing he and dad tried to pull out of the sand; and then he did not want to leave but there was that time thing. Always the time thing, never enough sometimes not yet.


And while he is at school his mother will write about things she has seen and places where she learned many things and also felt them for the first time, some she had felt before just never knew it. She will walk in the meadow across the road and stare at the skim of slush in the brown water of the marsh, where two mallards rose before she got there and look at the color of the meadow grass and think the perfect color for a kitchen but she will not say someday. She can see the light coming, where the blue lifts away into the beginning of yellow like a man opening his arms. She will squint as the sun erases the pond and hear the ducks circling somewhere in the bright, also other things she has not seen and feel something she has felt before, hoping


for a way to give him this. All of this.

thirteen things I have not forgotten

Leeds: Man is dragged from River Aire

Around 30 firefighters rescued a man from the River Aire in Leeds.

The man, thought to be in his early 30s, was unconscious when he was dragged out of the water by Leeds crews before being taken to Leeds General Infirmary in a waiting ambulance.

He was reported to have entered the river near Wellington Place and Monk Bridge in the city centre at around 7.30pm on Friday.

Watch manager Jeffreys said: "If he had gone much further he would have been in severe trouble, once it goes down towards the Dark Arches and through the sluices, no-one survives that."

Yorkshire Evening Post Tuesday, 3rd November

a man fell headfirst into the water.


And when the people sat down with their coffee and the toast
the dog holding his leash
the child dripping the oats
Mr. Melton clanking his trash on the way to the curb
and read the post they wondered.
why
and did he do it on purpose
was there a broken
heart
or a lost job
(five-to-one it was job said the men)
maybe he lost his money or worse
his wife's money
and maybe
he had no other way to see it through
thought one person
who quickly changed their mind.


One person living in Brisbey thought this: what did he think looking into the water.
On 53rd and Port a man said out loud into the fine air to himself
he thought it would be a quiet journey
and then was ashamed;
so much to ask for.
perhaps it was for a change and not to think
and for the best;
yes, it was for the best.
hopefully he lived a good life hopefully
he was not young and wanted
not to have to see anything else
the world cracking open over him in such a new new way
while floating on his back,
a tint of gray he had never noticed flowing above him
the taste of the Aire like a stone in his mouth
a man running along the shore waving his arms at the birds and the two lovers
asleep on the bank
a bird stabbing sticks into a nest
a tiny yellowish one
whose name he could not remember.

an excerpt from the recording of subject 212: a brother named armageddon

sometimes people leave things behind. even cats, they get left behind more often than not and not by any fault of the owner. not necessarily on purpose though one time there was that old tom nobody much cared for and there was no sadness there. he'd scratch you just for the sake of doing it. he was over by the wash shed licking himself in the sun like nobody's business, his paw curled tight just like a fiddlehead before he licked it then rubbed his head. over and over. a cat's life: anybody would want that. brother, was it brother? might have been eula, or little sister. anyway, one of them cried but nobody else, when that big old tom stopped washing then ran after them his old bent tail pointed to the blue sky.

and there was dolly lost in the snow we never did find but that was brother's fault and even he said so. more lost than forgotten; nobody forgets the first thing they loved, not in those days they didn't. now maybe. maybe there is more to love these days but not then no siree. not in them days. there was one doll or one wooden toy of a sort and you'd a haved to carved that yourself or maybe an uncle give it to you. the uncles brought the presents. not always but sometimes, the nicest ones did it proper. they did have a lot of uncles (and here there is a pause in the recording. the notes say subject asked to be excused but rmained sitting.  asked for water. 11:46 resume)


oh yes there were the uncles. that's what we called them or mister. sometimes they'd want to go as mister. my favorite was a cowboy, most of em were you know, they were rough men and lived hard lives. workers. in those days everbody was a worker. whether you liked it or not! (laughs). that was just the way it was and there was no use moping or fussing. there was a lot in keeping a family goin', fed and with clothes. we had a garden, a big garden! let's see, I'd figure it was bout from here clear to the wall yonder by that ficus. i'm pretty sure that's a ficus but my eyes.

so mama left every fall with one of the uncles. wha? yes, she'd leave. it was hard at first. hardest that first time because we had no idea. it was on a saturday I remember that clean as day. november; for some reason always november. she'd wait until everthing was in you know, the corn and we'd of had it milled and she'd make sure we had beans and such to get by on. winters were hard in them days. hard. one day the wind was blowing and we'd heard the dogs having a row. by dogs do you know what i mean? not these little pretty ones no. wolves. there was coyotes and later lots more of em once the wolves were run out but a long while the wolves would come around and i mean they meant business. the cow if you had one would have to be put up for the winter in the shed. so i had dropped dolly when brother sent me to the smokehouse and it was still dark and of course a little girl, she doesn't like to do those things. children these days have no idea their parents neither. we had to it was just so. made you who you are. so brother said i must go and the storm was blowing it had been snowing all night and the smokehouse door was froze when i got there. i ought not to have taken her what do children think? we had an old dog brother called cub and he came crawlin out under the shed and was happy to see me thinking i'd give him a bit of something. he was hoping to lick at the salt (laughs) but mama would have a fit if he got in there. one old dog got shut in there one time and what a mess. she made brother shoot him.

the storm was blowing fierce and brother had to come out and get me. i was too scared to get back to the house and just stayed there and then he was there like that. that was brother. he could be hard on us but i knew him best. i was his favorite you see. we get back in and mama is pretty upset with the bacon being locked up and my hands were pretty near froze off. one of em made me sit and poured hot water over and that is painful when they start coming around. then there was somebody at the door and brother went to it and a man was there come for mama. she got a satchel she had packed and said she'd be back in the spring but we did not know and after a time i don't suppose we counted on that or maybe we forgot she'd told us so. it was the first time and she did it ever winter thereafter. we all watched em go the snow like a big sheet they just went into and were gone. just like that. and i cried! oh i cried. i wanted my mama. but brother told me to hush and i did. brother was in charge and you know he was fourteen and it was hard. i suppose it was hardest on him. how we got by i have no idea. we just did. i was looking for dolly after the thaw had started and brother was hunting with cub and there she was riding up on the back of the man's horse. she got right off and went straight to the house and that was that. she said where is army, and i said who and she said brother. i never knew his name i mean his names was brother that's what i knew. but his real name was armageddon. he was the first and that was what she named him.

and i never did find dolly. brother said the wolves et her and maybe they did. it was a long winter.

like no tomorrow

"If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would            appear to man as it is, infinite." --William Blake

they sat waiting. 
the old guy thinking
the kid with the ring in his nose doing something with both hands
to a small black box
the man watched the thumbs
fast they were! 
the boy giving a lurch once like he'd been shoved
from behind 
the boy seems fine he told himself 
and he sat with that


the girl swinging her foot talking out loud 
no shit sherlock 
sometimes they did that what did he say then
these conversations with no one apparently there
what the fuck
but this did not bother the man, 
not even
when he forgot what he was thinking and when she left
he knew there would be more. this one


with a baby whose eyes did not move
and the old man worried.
he waggled a finger and made smiley face
then the 117 Pearl-UDist-GastonHgts
and the boy was gone,
the girl with the baby digging for the fare
did not see it rolling
the baby's head a flower teetering on its tiny stem
flopping to one side like no tomorrow.
he bent to pick it up
don't jest set there do something!
and then they were gone


and the old man thought:
of the day and her so afraid
the long drive in the sedan his brother had loaned
and him looking over the seat and slowing for bumps
oh the road was so so bumpy
like a sheep bleating when the lamb won't come,
dark and rain and cold to keep the disease down
only the good lord knows why they can't tend to themselfs
when she would say at this time of night not wanting to be left alone
it wasn't her thing but she'd have coffee,
waiting while he washed clear past his elbows dirtying the sink.
he let the little one suck his finger
while she cried in the bath with the Delft tiles
his mother had chosen when he was, what? twelve
that she loved best.


and he thought  
these things just happen
Doc Harris it couldn't be helped
but nowadays a code 100 or something
and too many tubes to see who was really 
in there
her hand under his
a thing he'd touched every day coming home and leaving
to feel so different
and to not squeeze back.


but there would be no code 100
for him no sirree
and no eyes or kidneys when it was all said and done,
wondering where it was and how long it was taking
and maybe the next would be the one.
and that was really quite alright the man thought to himself
no need to even discuss it
a girl out by the curb instead of sitting

where the bus would come.

word

This morning somebody used a word I was not familiar with and so I looked it up, mostly because I liked the way it sounded and also the way it felt to say it, though at first I did think it was a typo as is often the case in emails. Maybe they forgot a letter? But more importantly, because a word unknown is an odd thing. Now, many people, and I know who you are, will skip right past a word they do not know.  How many of us cart around a dictionary? and there is the time thing, a moment spent reading is a gem in this life, and I'm not going to give a frowny face to anybody who is spending any time reading and slides right on past perfunctory or whose eyes cross at embourgeoisement.  Plus there is all the new language or pseudo language or Ice T language. My intention is not to get too William Safire-y here, the right wing bent (see also: inclination) toward rigidity and delineating what is what and what is (yo word), because I say so, not, deftly stacking the word world onto metal shelves, slamming the door, there! take that! But the truth is if a word is not used within one's sphere how are you supposed to know? 


Our world is expanding; the universe is, as I was told this weekend, like a big clear bubble that is also a mirror on the inside, so what we see is a reflection of infinity (actually, he said that we are like that girl who keeps looking over her shoulder into a mirror and sees the mirror in front of her, what is that word mom? and so as the bubble grows we are getting smaller, in fact, we aren't as big as we think we are.) And as it grows we create more connections, more ways to understand what's out there. I am sure there is an app (anyone over the age of 60 just thought huh? a what?) that can accommodate the search to broaden an understanding of the teenager who, standing at the open fridge said something that sounded like they were choking on a chicken bone, but no. Their little sister shrieked and their friend hooted and you had nary a clue. They are speaking a language you don't understand and they are speaking it to you and the dusty Webster elevating the dog kibble bowl ain't gonna help. Time for google. 


Which I did and chose something called the new urban dictionary and for all of fifteen seconds I was amused, bemused, then the usage became just too street for me, too hangin wid da homies; not to not get it, but to appreciate the culture of one hundred words for twat. Maybe it was dismay at one I really liked, imagined using, could see myself calling to the cat or comforting a child here little tweedlebug but whoa, that is not what tweedlebug means. Why take such a cute word and have it mean that? not that that, sometimes called down there, or if your kid goes to Montessori and you are on the reality track, as in no Santa or Easter Bunny (and why not the Bun? he's all about the reality of birth and death and doing the big nasty) it is v-a-g-i-n-a as in, Now Lilly, stop scratching your vagina with a loud emphasis on vagina so every mother at drop-off hears and understands that you are on the reality track, is a bad thing. The v can use some lovin' lingo, maybe just not during the previews prior to Wall-E. We all know the c-word but do we know why? well it is the sound, the hard c and the base uh and the finality of the t, but before the t the n drawn out like a whisper so that it makes you really want to lean down and hear it all, every last not nice, not complimentary, every last bad-assed syllable, and you get the picture. 


What is good about language and what is bad about language is that there is no black and white and there is no tidy scaffolding or a way to hold it all up and in one place. Language is willy-nilly, the very embodiment of that word, also cattywampus: apt to be turned on its head (oh Alice, there is that rabbit again). Like many people I am a collector of words (what is the word for that?) and so truly get excited about finding a lickspittle or a bergamot (really really love those -ot endings, just so je ne sais quoi), or a confundus (which is a made-up Harry Potter word thus as I'm writing this a dotted red line appeared out of nowhere and unbeckoned alerting me that I misspelled it or that it doesn't exist or that I am confunded in my choice). As a collector of words that darn red line appears a lot, frequently, often, oh the choices. I choose to ignore it a lot, frequently, and often. Looking back up the page there are sixteen red underlined words, including unbeckoned (how can that not be a word?) and the aforementioned tweedlebug. But google led me to the urban dictionary so take that oh spellcheck in the sky, it is in the lexicon of the tweetsters, the homies, somebody, and maybe, perhaps they have no clue what it even means. Who gets to say? Maybe it is just too twee for my Miscrosoftian spellcheck.


The thing is, language is alive and it is alive because of the words and what they point to. When I was in school I did not learn language or words because of any frickin' or even friggin' textbook. Forget the grumpy oldster of sentence diagramming (How can you be so Dr. Evil?) and pronouns and all those mean seventh grade words that end in -nym. There is little use chasing it down and clamping the jar over it, capturing it on the stale flat white of a page, or hoping to keep it flickering on and off in the dark, despite the holes poked into the lid. A word needs to be used, to fly out there in the air or settle softly upon the page, beat its little self against a window or hang on the corner with its homies, do something for chrissakes, besides lie flattened and pressed between thousands of pages. So I'm all for the twee and the twitter, new twitter and sweet little old lady twitter bustling over the roses, and the twitter of the birds, talking to themselves after a long and wearisome but not without a certain joy! flight, the migration break en route to a place embedded within the memory of wings.


("speaking a language you don't understand and they are speaking it to you" is from the Coldplay song Talk.  The line "how can you be so Dr. Evil" is Jay-Z)