Dear Sam

I

Instant mashed potatoes.

Your dad’s jam tomato sauce—He’s a cook I know.  He must not be bad.

We stole your roommate’s powdered lemonade to wash it all down
Because I was addicted to sugar. 

I think we may have fought—

or was that the time before the last,

You calculating how much money you’d spent on food for me,
while I cried.  

I told you later you were all wrong

That food you ate was mine too.  I bought you those instant potatoes. 

And besides, you need to cut your calculation in half. 

Were you starving while I went to town in your cupboards and fridge?

This is a grudge, I know.  But I don’t forget,

when I’m  accused of stealing hundreds of dollars from

someone who convinced me to date him. I’d take your money and run,

if I had known then about the promise. 

II

Dear Sam,

I write to you now that it’s been more than two years

since we have

parted ways. 

Remember the promise?  I made you make?

That in time we would reacquaint our

selves with each other.

Well, I’m collecting.

If you had hoped I’d forget, think again. 

A little East Coast-West coast distance isn’t going to stop me

from remembering,

The first boy who said he loved me.  

Thank you for teaching me that words mean nothing,

promises or professions, coming from humans

who, every day and every moment, change.

Mimi

III

Dear Sam,

Sorry about those pent up feelings from the last letter.

I tripped on the way home and it landed in the mailbox.

Forgive my clumsy ways.  

I’m glad I saved a copy though.  I’m planning on sending it

to my new ex-boyfriend.

(I’m sure you expected that your spot would be filled).

His name is Solomon. 

He taught me how to forget you and him at the same time

and that the word love is sacred. 

He stopped saying it the moment it disappeared

You should have too. 

In the future, try to not break another girl

Use your body not your words.  It isn’t as binding. 

Words mean nothing if you venture to change, but she may not know that.

Hope to never hear from you again, Mimi. 

IV

Mimi,

Your rough streak

Sounds sucky.

Good luck! With that!

Sorry I never responded

B T W.

I’ve been so busy at work. 

They pay me loads.

About that promise,

That I never made. 

Maybe you are right.

We do change. 

So don’t hold it against me.

Especially because

You changed much more than me.     

Remember?

Smoke Signals

He told me to look out
across the nine-hundred mile expanse
for a burning,
a smoke
above our heads. 
When phone lines fail
we oil the streets,
and light. 

Can you see my city,
my molten shapes,
through the smoke of your own
and by the time you do
where will you go
when there is no more city
just white dust
and smoke. 

God

In yellowed brightness, standing, humps a letter
M
over an automatic door,
and air conditioned scent.  
The paint is as bright as the bell in my chest sounding,
When I taste its artificiality 
pure and vivid. 
I need not to bow
only to break
down the bits with my teeth,
as Aaron built up
with yellowed brightness
a calf,
and called it God. 

Satin Shoes

She was the girl with two flat feet
Walking East without the streets
Her feet bent in from satin shoes
On stages where she paid her dues

Ribbons tied on neck and hair
Sunlight left to make her pale
Fragile limbs and finger tips
Could not scratch her fragile itch

But lovely down and lovely up
Lovely porcelain starving luck
Lovely legs to watch to bend
Picking up the scraps they’d send

And why do people cry when they’re sitting all alone
Missing their mama cuz she never came home
Why do people cry when they’re lying in bed
Laughing so hard to the music in their head
It’s telling them to go--telling them to flee
But momma’s car is parked out back
and parking lots are rarely free

She was the girl with two flat feet
Mending up with torn white sheets
the toes that bent into her shoes
The flatness of her inner bruise

Papa had stayed at home from war
They day they’d seen aside from poor
He couldn’t walk a mile straight,
his feet a turning mess he made

But daughter took her turning fate
And walked into the turning streets
Bracing through the pain of it
The pain of tired brittle feet

So why do people cry when they’re sitting all alone
Hear the phone as it rings
pretending no one’s ever home
If you pretend that you’re not there, a falling tree
without a noise
Listen hard and you can hear
the sound of your own crying voice

Why do people cry when they’re lying in bed
Laughing so hard to the music in their head
Why do people cry when they’re sitting all alone
Missing their mama cuz she never came home
Pick up the phone that rings again and again
Listen to her voice as she says Amen
Girl you have to go you have to take my car
And girl you have to go very very far

Marina's Song

A song written for a dear friend:


She said my friend, I know a girl, who's got a love like this
Of different faiths, and different minds, but with one heart of bliss
They cry at night, under lock doors, of separate houses where
They write the letters of their soul and all that they can share

I said my friend I think I've heard that one a time before
It was a story legend's width of distant seas and shores
I heard my mother share it with me night coming on fast
Recall her trembling lips as she'd quickly laugh


Her song went something like this
A love without a kiss
It shook our breath's and made us smile
At least for a small while


My mother's rock of arm's tight hold
She'd try to smile there
As she taught me that some pure loves
Are not a part of life's hard fare


But baby love you to know
That every life can't have
A love that is with passion
A love that is grand

Some loves are simple like
The universe has done
They tie a boy and girl together
Or a mother to her son


My mama took me by my fingers in her palm
And kissed me on the forehead
Whispering of the dawn

The universe looked up
And saw the smiling girl
And hoped to her that she would see
Something more than what couldn't be

With boy and girl in locked house each
The universe would have some peace
That dawn would still come on
Somehow some day
in mother or friend's song

Or a girl's soft hands
Can find her dearest friend
And hold on there with all her love
Along until the end

Trains

We cower,
here,
in the white tile room,
lights flickering like a horror film
above.
The soaps shiver
violently
by the sink,
threatening to fall.  
My eyelashes touch
the vellus hair
of my arm,
as my eyes see the darkness
of myself
curled in.

Hand-Holding

like a child again
my mother holds my hand

i'm afraid of the other children, they're all...
cooler
and dressed in pants that cost more than
we have and
hair so lovely
ribbon tied.

nineteen now,
and yesterday
i told my mom "the kids
made fun of me
then
because you dressed me
in boys clothes."
i wish that hadn't gone through like everything else
never does
but i saw it register
facially
and it hurts me like my own face has registered
that her daughter holds a grudge.

you let go of my hand
and every day i cry
the children all can laugh
but im too scared to raise my hand
to use the toilet.

itll be thirteen years
before i will raise my hand
and look at them
when i speak.

so why now do i cry
every time a hand lets go
nineteen and
when the school bus pulls away
my face still cringes
and i know
what will register
again
and again.