Wedding Vows (revised)

We wed, with the moon--
bathing in craters, preserved
like pickles.
Patience, we age like Avacados,
like warm milk in the sauce pan.
We lose our teeth, our hair
in the couch, down the drain.
We drink virtue like delicate,
the whip of cream.
We talk of death and wills,
we speak of our return,
the haunt. We plot
ways to spar with
the exorcist, the shock
of daylight. We save
mothballs in a box,
in the attic, for our
after death deodorant.

blessed are the poor in spirit

I bit
the line you dropped for me--
hook in mouth, you dragged
me West.
You pinned
me beneath the oasis of your belly.
I bore a sand storm
child-- dry stuck to the roof
of it's mouth. I offered up my breast
to the suckling altar. I sat in exhaustion;
you rode off into the sunset.

In the belly of the whale

Today ended as usual.
You came home, I made mashed
potatoes, you were silent
at the table. You asked me
to iron your suit, I licked every
word you said.

I am not
someone at the bar, the dragon
lady on the corner of 31st and Broad.
It's overwhelming in your hand. I fear
I'm beginning to slough off into the
gloves you wear when the weather bites
too hard.

Tendons walk before You

The stiple
of sun on grave; split
between after and life. A
woodpecker knocks on a
maple. No movement. All
are dependent on a call, a command
to come up and out-- from North,
from South. Liquor dries from lip
and palate. New wine drips
from your palm into casket
mouths. Each spill intentional,
eternal.

Things I believe in

the son of perdition
the starfish moon
God is wearing a white coat
dragons
bag ladies
that your feet flake in your socks
dad isn't coming back
the sound the pinata makes when it bursts

My father-- in five parts

Part One

There was the time you came
back from somewhere, newspaper in hand
and you had cupacke crumbs on the front of
your shirt. Vanilla fuzz balls-- they
made me hungry, they made me lick.
They made mom pissed. We left shortly
after that. I thought-- food can make
people pack and leave for good.

Part Two

We had to visit you every other
weekend-- even the phrase is difficult to say,
those e's, and the y that sounds like an e, and
that o all by itself. There were daddy long legs
in the bathroom sink. Their dab of body
sitting on the faucet, watching as I used
the toilet. I felt shy by myself.

Part Three

I was six the day I crossed
the street without your permission.
I wandered into neighbor's yards, into
the swimming pool of someone
I didn't know (I was brave at that age).
I found construction workers
on their lunch break. They offered me
macaroni salad, they asked why
my clothes were wet--I told about
the pool, they said I was a funny one.
I heard you call my name. I ran home, afraid.
You yelled. Why was I wet? You told me
to change my clothes and then you would
spank me (You never did like getting dirty).
I took my time pulling off my soggy shorts.
I tip-toed into the living room, you had fallen
asleep in your chair. I curled up on the couch
in mom's afgan, and watched you snoring. Later, you woke
me and asked if I wanted a tuna fish sandwich for
supper. You had forgotten about the pool, my wet
clothes, the spanking. I thought-- things can
be erased.

Part Four

Mountain Dew was your favorite, you
would get mad at us if we drank the last
of it. One April fool's day, the boys and I
put jelly beans in your glass when you
weren't in the room. We watched as the
blues and oranges and pinks dissolved
in the green fizz, watched as you took a
gulp and saw the candied blobs floating
at the bottom. We all yelled, April Fools!
You didn't laugh. You yelled and made
us get you a new glass. I learned that
parents don't get jokes.

Part Five

You smoked Marlboro reds. You always
carried a soft pack in your shirt pocket.
When I would climb into your lap to
cuddle, I would lay my head on your chest
and smell your pocket. It smelled like
raisins. One time when no one was around,
I took an old cigarette from the ash tray,
pressed it to my lips and sucked. It tasted like
dirt. I wondered where you kept the
raisin ones and if you would share
them with me when I was older.

The laugh of God

Your laugh is as the deep
groove of teeth, the fire
in the summer sand pit.
Not bowls filled with jelly,
but buckets, namely, chalk
full of cherries, hands, and
paper dolls. Each chuckle
a puff and a heavy blow--
to the face, to the jaw--
a massive pin up against a wall,
or a fall in a dream where you wake up
before you hit. Your laugh
is the cup with a crack in the rim,
a dribble slipping out each sip.

The slice of orange
on the counter,
shriveled--a crust
of fruit. Label the vine,
dip into the criticism
of citrus, the taunt
of tangerine. We all
have taste buds we
want to tame.

flashback

You once told me
it was possible to be scared
to death. (We were in a bar--
salt rimmed glasses, green appled
tongues.) I laughed. I watched
you put on your white coat, watched
as you fingered the buttons into
their holes. We walked home, made tea.
I laid in bed, told you it was true--what
you said in the bar. Told you I was scared;
you asked me what of, I said I didn't know.
You kissed my sea salt lips; I cried in your mouth.

He parted with pink lips--
but pink licks and strips the
bone, the belt buckle and below.
He bit with jagged
teeth-- like weather torn shingles.
His pin stripped pants of betrayal
lay on the floor. He eyed the door,
the telephone, my sagging breasts.
He labeled me velcro; said
I should let go. But he was the one
that stayed, that slept
with his mouth open, that used
my slippers when he walked
to the bathroom.

A solid lover

You want to love me--
by day, by the rubble
of Jericho, sweet beneath
the tower of Babel. You
sit in my covered boots,
my covered wagon teeth,
believing I'll come
home, that I'll leave
the rough city
life, the straw, the pig's
pods. You call
me the whitewashed woman.
You think of me when
You bleach the curtains, the floor,
an entire continent.
You see me as Rahab--
You're waiting
for me to dangle the scarlet
rope from my window.

empezar

It might have been at the circus.
Your mouth stuffed with popcorn--
an orange kernel flake stuck between two teeth,
the clown with the red flower that
refused to spray, the acrobats that lay--
that spin like toy tops on linoleum.
I fell in love with the
lions that yawn, the
tigers and the juggling bear.
It might have begun there. Or maybe
it was at the drug store--when we
bought your mother that card
the one with yellow flowers on the
front and the inside that read
You're special. It might have been
at the dinner table, over the daisies, over
deviled eggs, over two spoons. Perhaps
that was when I swooned. Or it may
have happened in the theater, at the bar,
in the car-- with the coconut air freshener dangling
from the mirror.
Honestly, dear, I can't remember where;
either way, I'm almost certain,
there were flowers there.

call a spade a spade

Believe me, you'll never
get her that way. She likes
it dirty-- call her a tramp,
steal her purse, write on her
thighs with lipstick while
she's sleeping. Take off the
tuxedo, drop the accent--
she can't speak the language.

My fault

It comes out all over
the place-- in the store,
in church--it pinches through
doors and vows. It leaves
people hanging, the drip of
death on their face, the stab of vicious
in their back. How do you hide
your ripped underwear,
your wife's lingerie?

She used to talk about grace

Mother used to talk about grace
as if it were soap in the sink, the longest
piece of licorice, a thimble. She said
it never went hungry. She talked
about it when she was angry, she
said that was when it wanted
to come out. I thought it a monster
that would eat the whole house,
I use to pray it would pass over me.
She said it hid in things and would
surprise. I checked under my bed,
checked my shoes,
held my belly-- found nothing
in the cracks, in the space. I thought
her crazy. She used to talk about
grace like hand-me-downs, like
east and west, like buckets
of wine in the basement.
I saw it as a washcloth, on the
clothesline-- occasionally dripping,
fading in the sun.

weaved by flaming tongues above.

We twine like twigs
in a basket, in fire.
Smoke framing every
movement-- roping around
our eyes, lips-- each
sip of faith. I limp, You carry
my limbs in the order
I surrender them
to the flames. We speak
of moon more than morning--
preparing for chapped winter
freezing the tip
of tongue, the rind of repentance.