Monday, February 04, 2008


Now the body is found

I want to change the ending, blue

veins scribbled on her skin

that final note. Erase

the story: a girl runs

the highway of heat & longing

You can smell the diesel

& the unripe fruit, hard bitten plums

I want to start over.

She puts on her pink sweater

to go home, not this sprawled

star, green car speeding

the happy radio loud, no racket of grief


Take away the crying

mother & the tables of wilted flowers

Set the clocks back

Tape their clanging mouths

We have too many broken wishes

Even the newspapers fly away

magpies of joy & sorrow

We could say she ran inside, thirsty

Not a drop spilled


He thought he’d cut their throats.

The jukebox had bright rows

of lights, like the ones that blind

the deer, so softly stepping

in the background of the printed forest.

You know terrible things

happen. The moon still rises

her scarred face desperate

as any opened heart


At February 25, 2008 4:21 PM , Blogger blog queen said...

Wow, your poems are so powerful.

I hope you are doing well. I haven't had the time for visiting round, and you've been very, very busy writing I see. I checked your other blog and saw about the shelter too. You are truly a great humanitarian. A friend of mine's brother is bi-polar and alternately lives with his parents, and then on the streets. His dad and mom are both elderly and sick themselves. She tries to help out, get him to come to where she is etc., and he won't. Now her son has been diagnosed bi-polar. I know she is scared, yet she is in such a better place to help her son than her brother.

Her comment "We don't do a very good job of helping the mentally ill in America."

So, I'm happy you are one who does.

At February 25, 2008 6:17 PM , Anonymous marly said...

This seems a very jarvenpa-ish story. Lots of punch to the telling, and I like that odd thread of writing that runs through it--the scribbled veins, the magpie papers, the printed forest.


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