Saturday, May 27, 2017

Dream Captains



Every damn night
you shut off the lights
and sleep the rest of worms.
Wiggling.
Mouth open.
Tongue dry.
And oh, that is just the beginning of your dry patches. 

We’ve lost interest in 
your night kneading,
your cradle cap full of sweat 
and dirty limericks twice forgotten.

We’ve stopped applauding your night terrors 
about pulling the loose thread 
on the living room carpet
as if it were a ladder
that could bring you closer to the moon. 
You pull and pull 
until it ravels itself into a parachute
until there is nothing left but ruffles and sea foam.

You dream. 
And we wait for shadows to grey
under the floppy tongue of morning light. 
We huddle around the imbecilic wall clock in the bathroom,
watching it shed slivers of seconds with every tock. 
The big hand, 
the little hand,
chasing after each other
like squirrels desperate for a shag. 
Which one carries the nut, Magda?
Which one is keen to chase? 


I wrote this new poem in response to the weekend mini challenge over at Real Toads.  This poem is part of my Black Birthday Cake chapbook - a series of poems written to Magda ( a woman) from the ghosts living in her apartment. 

Sun Down


Somehow
the day scrubbed the needy, 
whiny yap from you. 
So when you leave your sneakers
next to the welcome mat,
we move them just a little - 
just an inch or two. 

We think 
you’ve stopped noticing the distance
between the things you buy
and your self-taught terror.
This is not make believe. 

You know 
the sun whispers terrible things
to turn the horizon tender pink.
And you know 
you’ve begged for that same brightness, 
the blush of words 
from the bath-robed weirdo
combing his beard with a chicken’s foot. 

Somehow
the day stripped you clean, Magda. 
The curtains closed. 
The tea kettle silent. 
This is not make believe. 
Your sneakers do not want to dance with you. 



I wrote this new poem in response to the weekend mini challenge over at Real Toads.  This poem is part of my Black Birthday Cake chapbook - a series of poems written to Magda ( a woman) from the ghosts living in her apartment.