2003 Advanced Poetry w/Jack Ridl

These Days (January-April, 2003)
	found poem: Jack's 455 Poetry

these days I long to phase back 
into the early questions, to the growing 
speculation that preceded logic and sense,
my memory a cache for the lifetimes 
that fall between the ticks of my
watch, like a china doll or an old 
music box, they sit unexplored 
upon the shelf. 

why I couldn't sleep I don't know,
but I wonder what has been thrown 
away, lost, forgotten... I recall
when your mouth moved slightly 
and I leaned in to listen as you 
whispered— now, today I am free.
as you whispered to me how much 
you wanted to fly. I know I'll still hang 
on every crease in your voice
as the door shuts tight on your famous 
last words, ink will drop from your hands, 
the water will reach out for you, I'll take sand 
in buckets and pour it back into the hourglass 
of our lives, our shadows will remind me 
that we are more alike than different...

I want these days to be the stones
I walk by, the smudges I leave on anything
I touch, the last place the last snow melts, but
instead they dissolve into puddles, 
and we wonder how our lives should have been 
different, and if we found the art we 
dreamed of in this life, after all?


I Carry With Me 

old leather suitcases clicked
with rusted clasps and keys
lost down the cracks in the side
walk and I look 
back

missing where I came from—
quaint yellow houses 
on dawes street with red doors,
my dad and I painted them 
green to match the shutters

framing my sister's bedroom,
I helped her button
her bridal gown the day we
played on the swings and sang
mr. jones in the park down the

road, my mother and I lined it
each spring with red geraniums,
and purple hyacinth I could smell
as I rode my bike over the
asphalt, rode my scooter

down the hill, tripped and
engraved a 4 on my knee
in scar tissue—
4 lost teeth, 4 bad dreams, 4 years old
I said goodbye to my dog

hoping with every thanksgiving
wishbone for another to walk
down these crosswalks to the future
searching for the U-turn around 
andkeepyourfootonthatcurb sign, 

preventing the changes I fear
when I forget
I carry with me
all I have packed 
between

leather and luggage I am
taking it with me to the
ends of the earth


Along the lines
	for my dad

I forgot to tell you
love 
is a phone call 
from states away, wishing 
the lake had a plug to pull 
watch it swish-swirl- 
sink down the drain washing 
clean the slate 
I'd walk across to knock
on your door, waiting 
for the laughter lost 
between shutters and sidewalks.

I'd tell you I want to 
square dance on the docks, 
hold up a fish and smile 
for your camera,
draw you a picture and hang it on
the tree outside 
my old window.
I want to watch extra butter drip 
on our movie popcorn,
play one-on-one,
pass go, collect 200,
take it out for dessert where I know
you'll order ice cream
(vanilla)
and ask if I want 
coffee with my cake.

Still here 
I hang up the phone,
the sink in my kitchen fills 
up and over flows
cleaning the countertops
filling in cracks between stone tiles
soaking the legs of the table, 
the chairs I sit.
And in the stillness 
of stirring my coffee, I
hear the ice cream melting.


the Rock broke my window

I swear I feel the sound move
through me...
glass shattering
like ice, like life. Time 
cracks, slips, shatters 
me frozen, stuck, still unable
to return to a day
when I felt full

I faintly recall having more than this 
day in and day out, days 
spent dancing in Your living room,
carpet green and shag, soft to my 
callused feet, ceiling wallpapered 
with plaids of black and white, calling 
me to reach through 
the box I can't put You in
(You reach down) now I wonder 
when I stopped

...but my
prayers fall between 
deaf ears and blind eyes
I can't seem to find a way up 
or down or out of my stuck state
sometimes I forget that
even my breathing
is a prayer


Blue Thunder 
     (your Lumina)

Taking the highway at 85
blue car blends in
with blue sky as
duct tape racing stripes
lead the way
we weave in and outside
these yellow lines

Your bumper dangles
like my hand out your
window won't roll up
my bare feet on the dash
hold me here my hand
on your thigh your
hand on my heart

Brown Eyed Girl
on the radio
(in your front seat)
my soprano to your tenor
you sing to me of
greener grass

that never grows


Worship
	for Jimmy Slyde
	Master tap dancer

Jimmy slipped down the aisle
as only Slyde can,
his dancing mad smooth, like
butter between the pews of 
my church, sliding over marble and 

green carpet, light refracted through
stained glass, reflected off
the metal of his tap shoes,
clicked slid up and over one
pew to the next, ever nearer 

to Father John staring
upward, singing off-
key with the blue robed
choir, never noticing the
congregation unsettled by

the sound of rhythm,
the sight of movement,
the sense of real worship.


Youngest of Five

I was the quiet strength
among nights drizzled in tears
shed with skins of rough texture

I danced in the hallway between
grief and grace casting grey
shadows on the tile floor, 

I sang hymns of redemption,
reservation echoed off ceilings in cries
of anguish, of thanksgiving

I painted portraits with
brushstrokes and balance of soft and intense
memories, wood frames on white walls

I pulled back the torn and
forward the ignorant to where
we met in the middle of the kitchen

And I--
five foot four, 
hundred and twenty pounds

--carried the weight of Atlas,
my family,
but never let them carry me


Tithe

down 16 th street
mothers leave their babies
on deserted doorsteps,
while in the upper apartment
junior drowns facedown
in the tub by momma's hands.

fathers fail to send
child support beyond
miseducation,
no money to teach his son
statistics, science, sex ed, 
salvation.

next door daddy's girl
sits on his knee
drinking in the whispers
of their little secret
	don't tell mommy
	don't tell anyone.

my mommy told me to eat all 
my vegetables— there are
starving children in China.
as if vegetables and $28 a month 
sent on camels backs
to Africa will

feed the children.
stop world hunger.

who will send pennies
around the world to 
our children?

in our country
children's ears starve 
never hearing truth,
having hope,
living life,
learning love.


I love you as your car 
rides the road. 
Blue Lumina against 
black asphalt, 
connected by duct tape, 
it binds us inside, 
my feet resting 
on the dashboard, 
you with one hand 
on my knee, one hand 
steering us to neverneverland, 
oldies music assuring us 
when we get there 
we won't need to 
look back.


Please Remember
   "A mother is she who can take the place of all others but
   whose place no one else can take." –Cardinal Mermillod

you are the chocolate 
chips in my cookies everyday 

after school I took you in 
washed you down with 2 percent 

milk dunked drenched I 
drowned you out and inside 

myself I drowned without you 
to set the table to sing me to sleep 

I sleep unsoundly on 
feather flat pillows with faded 

blue flowers grown from your 
garden I watered and planted 

forget me nots 
with you and only now I 

understand the hellohellos 
I long to remember 

and the forever goodbye 
I fear to forget


Right Left Hand
	to Kari

you sit always on my left
and miss me when I'm not
on the right side of this
picture, this poem, this past
nineteen eighty six I sit
and wonder how time flies as
we've been dancing dancing dancing
to the rhythms of the two
block sidewalk from your house
to mine we've been wandering in the 
same set of footprints
I carry you carry me Kari I
see your charcoal pencils
in the gravel your water
color in the waves your
pastels in the promise of a hand
	always on my left


at 3am it still feels like Wednesday

only this time I never run 
out of things to say.
even the silence hangs 
comfortably like the silver cross 
around my neck, linked and dangling 
near my heart, hangs as if it belongs 
on the rays of the dim 
yellow light that swings and 
sets the tone, ushers in the scent 
of coffee beans clinging 
to my coat, resting on my lips,
living in my fingers as I run 
them through your hair, let 
the dark smell of espresso linger, wake you 
up where you lie on leather 
because tonight you soaked in the stillness with me—
the glow of things left unsaid, the silence 
between friends, the scent of shared coffee 
(somehow always black) 
bittersweet, so we'll throw it away 
as we walk out the door, and 
you'll go home lonely
but I can't call you on Thursdays...


they dress you up in white satin 
and give you your very own pair of wings…
				-counting crows

I walk to the edge and I sit where I'm swallowed whole by sand and skin and storm rolling in over waves
in darkness wearing white I'm washed up to my ankles in sin to my self in solitude I'm slip-sliding into
starless night wishing for a well for a whisper for a way out of this quicksand for a one way staircase
spiraling through the ceiling for an answer to shatter glass like this wind the water like this trust
the tears I drip drizzle dry and wish I wonder whynot wonder where wonder how wonder when you will
cup my face like liquid as my sanded hands cup try to catch this water you will wipe away kiss my tear
drops catch me like a snowflake on your tongue take me into wonder fly me high to clouds I sift through
coffee stained fingernails dig my toes into you drown in midnight after night I miss what I do not have do
not see do not know you bury me with a black plastic shovel til I tire of fighting failing freeing myself
less than ever after I wash away with the shore


I thought I saw my mother 
           today

sitting in the snow,
head like a peach
fuzzed by cancer, covered
with a crimson hat
shading emerald eyes that
scan the newspaper 
for her story

surviving are her
husband,
four children,
four grandchildren.

these four years brought four
more grandchildren who learn
to count down the days 
I will need her
to bring me roses,
sing the pomp and circumstance,
button my bridal gown,
continue the count of 
grand (my) children,
continue her story
onto these blank pages
she left 
for me to fill.


if I don't step off the edge I might never learn to fly

in the hour I never lived
you shared my coffee. with one 
cup you gave me your 
story, whisked me away 
to log cabins with crackling 
pinecones underfoot, held 
my hand on the docks and stole 
a kiss under the cluster of 
mistletoe-stars. you carried me 
out of my picture frame 
and laid me down 
on a blue highway to 
nowhere known where 
between blackberry and mocha, 
maps didn't matter as long as 
we stirred ourselves together 
until all melted into 3am and I knew
while I was missing, you gave 
your glances to someone else.


k~

i wish i could send sand
in a postcard.
write in it 
with my toes.
ask you where the waves
come from.
wonder how small we are...

a sample of grains that grind
between my toes,
   slide beneath my feet
from boardwalk
                    to beach shore
           and back again...

and again the immensity of tiny crystals
sends my mind on sail-boats
to the stars you sleep
under notsofar wisking 
me away to days we spent
where water wraps around ankles...


Just To Say

I love you
as the stars
call the wise
men, leading
them through
mountains
and valleys,
protecting
them from
the darkness
of nightfall,
leaving them
only at the
rooftops of
the stable
where love
Himself lay


Saving Time

if I could find all the lost hours
I'd catch them in a jar, spread them
out like jam tasting minutes by 
minutes, turn them into nighttime long and
tireless and spent with you. 

I'd want to crawl into the corner 
booth with coffee cups and poetry, listen 
to the silence filling in the gaps between 
salt and skin, we'd speak slowly of no later 
than today, telling stories of beaches, 
take sand in buckets and pour it back 
into the hourglass of our lives, take time 
to notice the way our footprints sink 
side by side and stay there, never 
washing away with the shore. 

I'd want to turn every lamppost into 
a light lining the path we'd wander beside 
foreign rivers daring us to run, to sail,
to change with the tides, to never let
wednesday pass us by, and when it rained
you'd take my hand, spin me in over
cobblestone and we'd dance to the rhythm
of drops joining cheek to cheek, we'd whisper 
with wine on our breath about grapevines and 
gondolas and God's grace. 

I'd want to walk home because it takes longer 
than driving, sit down in the parking
lot and sing to the guitar strings vibrating
through our minds, wait until the clouds clear
and we'd notice the stars, stop to
take pictures so when we woke up 
in the morning and I went ahead 
without you, somehow 
we might remember that the 
wishes were real.

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