House of Three Corners (published by Yavanika Press, 2020)

 Early Morning Warning

 “Wake up!” my mother says, rushing into my room. “Your aunt has been taken to the hospital. She has the hives! She has trouble breathing!” My grandmother can't find her walker. My uncle, Auntie's brother, can't break from sleep. His snoring causes the birds to twitch. Running to the car, I sense my shoes are mismatched—one with & the other without holes.

 hospital room

 I close my eyes until everyone can see

 that I'm not here

The Wonder Years

 I was born in a yellow house, later painted pale green. On most mornings, the light came in from unnamed stars. I didn't need much water. I dove diehard for Captain Kangaroo & had too much time for crayons & Silly Putty. My little, insignificant life waxed & waned. Time was stranded on the moon. Oh, & people. There were three women & one man. I won't name names. It won't come to anything. & me. My thoughts traveled through bone via absent-minded bubbles. Then everything remained forgotten. On most days, I could play jump rope & walk on air. 

like Tom Sawyer, 

I play hooky everywhere 

 School Jail 

The teacher tries to bend us into right angles.

 I prefer eating alone. 

Mermaid Conspiracy

 Under the boardwalk, a fast girl in from the waves tells you that they shot President Kennedy. She says she heard it underwater. You ask her if an octopus can have that good of an aim. She smirks & undoes your freckled skin, leaves a trail of wet footprints. To this day, still an unsolved crime. 

in saltwater 

you stop mouth-breathing

 & curl inside a fish 

 Dog Years (Ages 10-14)

 I'm put outside in the cold. I read my future from bare trees. In ten to twenty years, I'll have a girlfriend with a face resembling the nun in third period. A young dark island with hints of shallow blue streams. I'll tell this girl that I can't touch first. The guilt, you know, from original sin. I'll tell her that now she must confess her sins. I‟ll listen & blush.

 learning the sound of hard g Sunday School :: obli(ga!)tory 

Our Mock Task Force on the Environment 

We become a kid-bureaucracy of politically correct fish wishing to be birds. 

World Weary 

Sister Wilhelmina keeps flying pigs in the belfry, Steve Lawrence sings “Go Away Little Girl.” I cast a breathless shadow on hot pavements. On windy days, I lose my mother. 

poly-perverse universe :: God save the Queen! 

Psalm 999

 On Fridays, we smell like fish. 'Cuz on Fridays, that's all we eat. After dinner, we take a nap & wake up more dead. Grandma asks if we would like any leftovers. 

frozen lakes reverse engineer this silence w/ skeleton parts

  Inspiration

 Sister Adrienne's hiccups are divinely savant.

The Ephemeral Nun

 Sister Olin says, “Girls are too soft for this world/boys are too hard of hearing.”

  Practicing w/out a License 

I play hospital in fourth grade with a girl who doesn't believe in stitches.

 open wound

 we lip-sync the sounds of pain 

Guidance Counselor

 “Marry a girl of stout faith,” says the hung-over, rosy-cheeked priest.

 I marry a peach-colored cloud,

 low-flying & no honeymoon 

 Lessons in Telepathy 

The nun with the plug-ugly nose hangs our best handwriting exercises on the wall. She bangs the bottom of her fist on the thumb tacks. Back in our semipermeable houses, we dream of her palms bleeding in perfect little streams. We dream of each other, & in those dreams, we still can't spell properly. Not even for Jesus. 

the sky conscious of rebellious clouds :: a thought becomes a hurricane

Brain Teasers of my Fragmented Youth 

Grandma (post-stroke) thinks Anne Boleyn is a type of pumpkin. It takes me years to disprove this. Saint Iris's Elementary School is named after a nun who forged herself. From the stairwell, I hear mother tell Auntie that she once slept with a man who resembled Tyrone Power. Before that, she said it was a man resembling George Maharis. “We slept in our pajamas, never made it to first base, and for all I know, we might all have been gay.” Uncle can't chew pork without his dentures. He gives up on both. Grandma‟s last words on her favorite recliner: “The world was always too far from me.” 

She dies from Congestive Heart Failure while holding a slice of Pepperoni Pizza

Privileged & Gifted 

We make ga-ga eyes at the most beautiful girl on the school bus. She resembles Hayley Mills in early Disney flicks, untouchable as the breeze. freckled-face doll calling my name then plays dead.

That Virgin Winter 

Uncle Herman tells us how he & the fading lives of U.S. marines retreated from the Chinese Liberation Army. Twenty degrees below zero. How can the snow, that snow, I wonder, be as white as marshmallow?

 blue toes… i suspect that this winter you're overdosing on sugar

Geography Lesson

 Auntie draws the shape of Portugal on the palm of her hand, then closes it. No, I tell her, that was New Jersey. I know New Jersey like the back of my hand. 

contour drawing 

your hands die before your lips do

 Mother’s Favorite TV Sitcom 

missy sissy, we blow you a kissy. heard you overdosed on Gorilla Glue and whiskey

 fast forward: a tragi-documentary on A&E w/out close ups 

Gunsmoke

 “Shoot from the hip, Marshall. If you miss, they'll just cancel you.”

 reward for capture 

a talking horse 

with perfect teeth 

Prisoners

 Auntie asks my mother & me to move out of her house. She says I make too much noise when I sleepwalk & my rock albums are causing Uncle Herman more brain damage. I take down my posters of Geronimo, Charles Bronson, John Lennon, & James Dean from my bedroom walls. Exhausted, my mother sits on my bed & breaks down. “It's all your fault,” she says. As if I had the power. At night, tiny policemen march into my ears. They say, “Come with us.” 

 We All Live in a… 

One day the Beatles come to visit me. I ask them if they would like Earl Grey tea. “Only if you have animal crackers,” says John. George plays my toy xylophone & makes it sound like a piano. Ringo keeps time with his left foot. Paul asks if I have any old Beach Boys. His favorite is Pet Sounds. “Only Wild Honey,” I say, noting it is scratched. After they leave, my mother, recovering from laryngitis, yells from upstairs asking, “Whom are you talking to?” Her loose slippers slap the stairs in irregular beats. I tell her the Beatles. I tell her they got here by helium balloon.

a blow-up walrus

in our living room

must have gotten here

by submarine

says uncle smarty pants

My Bedroom Leaks Gravity 

At night, I hear the houses creak, lean toward the moon. 28 Lucky My mother wins the lottery. Grandma wants three slices of orange skies. Auntie wants a trip to Hollywood so she can meet the real Rock Hudson. Uncle Herman wants three months of filter-less cigarettes. It helps him forget the war. My mother slowly loses her eyesight. 

white is another name for distance 

Civil War

The attic (mother & I) declares war against the first floor (Uncle Herman & Auntie Maud). Nobody speaks for days. I sneak downstairs. Grandma bakes sourdough bread & cinnamon buns to forge a new truce. From her bedroom, Auntie recites a fairy tale in iambic pentameter. Then, Uncle Herman plays Billie Holiday & Duke Ellington. Grandma burns her finger & yells “Son of a bitch!” I splash cold water over the both of us. grass in the shade we won't outlive our parents 30 Back Story My father, a ?, married my mom, put me inside her (!) & fled to Amsterdam. Never returned. He preferred loving women for their smile. Women smiling behind windows.

 river of lights 

we spawn reflections for the fish 

Barbershop Quartet

 At the school play, we sing & soft tap before a sea of darkness. Somewhere out there is my mother, Auntie, Uncle Herman, & Grandma without her walker. What a funny thing it is to be seen, but not to see. At home, I undress, taking off my bowler hat, fake mustache, & suspenders. Sitting on the bed in my underwear, I start singing "Swanee," a song from the play. This time I don't miss a beat. My mother says, “Go to sleep.” From her bedroom, I can hear the radio. Mick Jagger singing that he “can't get no satisfaction.” 

Confirmation Day 

The bishop with a silver tooth comes to confirm us. He asks questions about Christ & who really hammered the nails into His cross. We have the answers partially memorized. After we kneel & give him our new chosen middle names, I feel a warm stream down my leg & leave a puddle of clear yellow on the marble floor. Like a small miracle, it forms the shape of a Rubinesque angel in the center aisle between pews. Outside, a nun slaps me while I'm standing on the church steps. Then, she hugs me and weeps. 

if only my legs would stretch

 I wouldn't have to run away

We’re Only Happy When We’re Unhappy

 Our family takes a space trip to a moon colony advertised as the perfect vacation hotspot. Rumor has it that it's great therapy for the dysfunctional family, the couple that can only burn each other's toast. After we arrive, Uncle Herman keeps losing his toupee due to a lighter gravity. I try playing frisbee with Auntie's Sinatra album collection, but the records never return. Mother is still having a problem with flyaway hair. Grandma keeps wetting in her space suit. She's running out of Lasix. & we all argue over who is stealing the most oxygen. 

fact or fiction: there are no lemonade stands in the Sahara

 Premature Epilogue 

Grandma dies the second time of spiders in her sleep, Uncle's mind approaches the lightness of his smoke clouds, Mother remains a still life with moving lips, & Auntie sells the house for the price of sixteen unicorns & one double-headed snake that will follow me for years.

 attention deficit disorder— years like birds,

 no one knows where they went

  The True Epilogue 

“Wake up!” my mother yells from my bedroom doorway. “It's almost September!” But will I wake up to another wake up? “Wake up!” my mother yells from my bedroom doorway. “It's almost September."