Questions To My Important Boss
March 30, 2012 § Leave a comment
How do you know this is significant work?
What makes you love this?
Is it the money?
The vacations you go on?
Or do you go on them so you can miss this?
I wish I could love it too
But all I see is drudgery
And I don’t understand how every other business man
can speak with authority on all the things they don’t know
and coat their voice with the certainty that they own you
But then again, maybe they do.
Why else would we give so much?
We want their money
like they want our servitude.
Unfair as it may be,
I imagine overweight men with expensive haircuts
on the other side of the phone
And I must make an effort to recognize voices
(“Don’t you know who I am?”)
After all, they have so much
I have so little,
it’s only right I should know.
I don’t love this, I don’t even like this sometimes
but I live in America
I can drive
I can vote
I can sleep with whomever I want
and it’s still not quite enough
to quell all the wanting that makes me head feel like it’s on fire
Monta
March 29, 2012 § Leave a comment
We meet for lunch at a little Japanese place
both of us knowing nothing has changed.
We eat quietly, your anger sulfurs our iced tea and
you don’t see my love sinking into the soup.
FISHERMAN
March 20, 2012 § Leave a comment
I found him in the desert; he said he was a farmer
But I’m certain he’s a fisherman.
He must be to make me love him like how the sea exists
(perfect in its infinite fluidity, knowing it must be its own inescapable destiny)
And each night he turns me into a small boat; my harbor two arms.
My sleep is heavy with oceans now,
I’m bound in blues and greens
and I wake seeing the world through watery eyes.
Each morning, hating the moment I have to leave the heat of our bed and the soft roughness of his beard that reminds me of rope,
At work, I try not to look out the big window panes too often,
it makes me feel absent and restless for him–
I close my eyes, I feel the sun sinking into me,
smell the lightest scent of salt in the air,
reminding me of the taste of his skin–
It’s best not to look, inevitably, I look all the time.
I wonder why he has never asked me what his love is like
He must already know:
How he makes me feel like a mermaid on land and like the moon lighting the night.
Terror and wonder filling one breath as I try not to drown in the desert
American Dreams
March 20, 2012 § Leave a comment
A goodbye-kiss on the cheek, a hug for the baby
I’m always late to work, but no one says anything.
It’s dark out when I return, I say hello and pat the baby
I’m home late again, but he tries not to say anything.
I fold the laundry, pack lunches and climb into bed.
He pulls me in close- I sigh softly and close my eyes.
But sometimes, when I hear his breathing change,
I turn around and open them again,
and wonder in the dark if anyone knows how to hold on to things you can’t see,
and ask myself why I must feel this way (as if anyone could love me better than you).
When I finally fall asleep, I dream of birds burning in flight.
In the morning, I hold still and feel the weight of the day needing to start
I sigh away the lingering images–there’s no room for impatient sleep here
I get out of bed; it’s time to start all over again.
woodandhoney 