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."
