But we have not tried flogging yet / Luisa Berne
We have tried almost everything
Support and kindness
Tough love
Anger filled phone calls trying
to explain the pain,
trying to explain our fear for her, of her
We have tried cutting her off
We have tried therapists and 30-day programs
But we haven’t tried flogging or relics yet
I imagine dragging her to Saint Olaf’s church in Sweden where in a gilt box I once saw his finger bones looking no more remarkable than chicken bones on dark velvet.
I imagine the mere sight of them casting the demon out. The glow of her smile restored her hands steady again. I worry that she has been possessed for so long that I have forgotten who she is without the demon. I fear I will cast out the demon with the hand bones and she will not have changed.
Maybe I have been hero-worshiping someone
who never really was.
*it may or may not be St. Olaf’s hand bones in that church. When his body was exhumed both his hands were found firmly attached
So maybe flogging is the ticket, we haven’t tried that yet.
Time in a Waiting Room (Part I) / Scott Burnam
I. Of the twelve daily indicators of fortune
the direction Crow faces when she perches on the gable of your
unstable roof holds the most suspense.
II. Assignment: determine how many regrets built the noble stain at the bottom of this diner coffee cup,
where the crazing is always at the edge of cracking but still holds together for another Tomorrow.
Hint: how many pains were ignored like guests who couldn’t just RSVP as requested?
III. Today sits opposite Tomorrow
while Yesterday storms out, throwing
the same tantrum over the same ending that Today now contemplates.
IV. Tomorrow questions its fate
wondering what befell Today to make it so angry in leaving as it became Yesterday.
V. Today is convinced it will become the same
Tomorrow still believes it can be otherwise.
VI. Today considers all the Chances to Change
then demands a new set of Circumstances. Mother Time denies the request.
“There is no such thing as an empty sky,” she says, “only how we choose to see it.”
Roseblood / David Estringel
Blood red petals pave
the way to eternity—
so sweetly Godsped
sleep, dearest one, sleep
Into the black void—
velocity of granite—
time’s now on your side
sleep, dearest one, sleep
make deaf tender ears
to the din of sorrow’s wake
tears will dry, in time
sleep, dearest one, sleep
fear not the darkness
that swaddles your tired limbs—
honesty so warm
sleep, dearest one, sleep
never mind the chill
you love the clean nothingness
of winter snow
sleep, dearest one, sleep
Turn your blind eyes from
this solemn procession and
the roseblood underfoot
Some spots aren’t meant to wash away
sleep, dearest one…
Sleep
Tanked / Catherine Forest
A gas-filled mirror
Rolling on down the Highway
Leaving me fuming
like us, you were born, but you were not like us / Erika Seshadri
you grew as sweetbriar in the hill station
face of petals, body of thorns, bare arms
threshing through dry seasons,
the whole of you, riotous
until first rain.
welcoming each monsoon
with budded fingers, pop
popping
&you
humming with the river flow
living in the wilderness of silk
&you
grew rich beyond measure
The Oval Office Show Continues / Arthur Turfa
Another week, another world leader
faces Him-Whom-I-Shall-Not-Name.
At this least week had no rancor,
no shouting matches, no tag-team
from the bearded Next-in-Line
(sooner than we think.) Sorrow
expressed that June 6 was a bad
day for the guest and his nation.
In 2004 I was in Germany and saw
Der Spiegel’s cover with D-Day picture
and Danke, Amerika! emblazoned on
it. Perhaps Him-Whom-I-Shall-Not-Name
meant that he was sorry Operation Overlord
succeeded. Holy Freudian slip, Batman!
