Archive for June 26, 2009

June 26, 2009 at 8:04 pm · Filed under Uncategorized

As Green as the Earth

 

 As green as the earth

the 18-gallon plastic container

you bought at WalMart

for 6 bucks and change plus 50 cents

for fine black fiberglass screening

to cover the 10 round 1-inch drain holes

evenly spaced

2 on each short side

and 3 on the long ones

that you and I drilled

as if we could impose order

on a pack of wild worms

close to the fridge

out of the traffic flow

the most beautiful object in the kitchen

except for the no-stick frying pan

that gleams like jet

for rectangles never top circles

and green plastic can’t outshine Teflon

and anyway the best part is inside

where 500 red worms

are eating what we do not want

like broccoli stems and last week’s beans

and apple cores turning to compost

inside that green plastic container

that is a lot like the earth

but it’s a box and isn’t the earth

blue and round

but it’s the air that looks blue from space

and I guess it does from here too

but you can’t see much alive

from up there except

the Great Wall of China which isn’t even

and the twinkles of cities

that could almost be stars except

then you’d be looking the wrong way

and you could never be sure

but I can open the bin

and pull out some dirt

and see our 500 worms

and they don’t even bite

and they eat all the leftovers

without ever sneaking

just one more piece of chocolate

just to even it up

cuz you never notice 1 one bite

but many ones you do

and after all you’re 4 months

pregnant and the bank manager

tells me the employee on the phone

is 4 months too and now I feel real bad

that I mentioned Nuremburg reflexively

when she explained that she was

just following orders

but that was Friday

and now it’s Saturday night

and we built today

the new worm composter

the second most beautiful thing in the kitchen

except when you are there

because you hold in your belly

the promise that grows with every meal

while the worms eat what we do not

and your belly is rounder and more perfect

than a no-stick Teflon frying pan

and your eyes are greener than the earth

and my love for you is older than worms

as old as dirt and like compost

because it remakes the world every day

more fertile

with the possibility of new life

and another spring.

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Partial Draft, Yellow Moon 1

June 26, 2009 at 3:24 am · Filed under love, lust, moon, poetry, prose, sex, song

I just need to write this down fast as a beginning — much work ahead, not much here but a rough idea, a feeling that I can’t capture yet

 

Yellow Moon

 

November born, we were still 17

            but college IDs were good enough

            for Urbana bars in those days

            and nights, like when we straddled

            the double yellow line that marked

            the border with Champaign, serenading

            that ripe old prairie moon

            with Neil Young and Bob Dylan,

            call and response like a prayer

            ricocheting from town to town

            and back, finding our rhythm,

            blending slow and sweet, then

            fast and wild my hands

            your hips a drunken reverie:

 

(Blue, blue windows behind the stars,

                        Sundown, yellow moon,

Yellow moon on the rise,

                        I replay the past,

Big birds flying across the sky,

                        I know every scene by heart,

Throwing shadows on our lives,

                        They all went by so fast.)

 

We shared pitchers of warm beer

            my flannel shirts

            drags on your cigarettes

            a twin bed beneath a window

            and Jack Kerouac:

 

       (The air was soft, the stars so fine,

The promise of every cobbled alley so great,

       That I thought I was in a dream.)

 

Two far out hipsters in frayed jeans

            holding hands across the monumental Quad

            skipping to the boom boom beat

            of our young and joyous hearts

            listening for the far off rumble

            of the raw American Midwest

            holy night barreling west

            across the big river

            to the Great Plains

            and the mountains and deserts

            and sea beyond, end of the world

 

Which is where I went.

            What could I share with you now,

            Ghost lover from beyond the horizon?

            My oldest child is just like we were then.

            My daughter’s a reader, like you.

            My youngest is named for Sal Paradise.

            I lived in Mexico and learned to read

            Neruda and Lorca in Spanish.

 

And what could you tell me?

            Is the Tasty Freeze still by the lake

            in the town you left behind?

            Does the harvest moon still shine

            sunflower yellow on the upturned

            faces of young lovers?

            Would you believe it if I

            read you this poem

And would you kiss me one more time?

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