Mango and Spring

2015 Spring Poem Collection

Hands Up, Buddha

I have three friends
1) He pivots, hurriedly draws a venn diagram
With a twisting force he stabs the whiteboard marker hard into the diagram, squishing the felt tip, squeaking out
drops of God
2) She scraped her knee and I am standing just above her
her face is dropped away from me
so I can only see baby hairs wafting around her forehead
I questioned for the rest of my life
why she hid her smile from me just then
3) She slapped me awake around noon
and she showed me a crowd
that rippled and screamed, alternating
with the guitar riffs
as smoke rose and people stomped on cigarettes
that most important revolution.

Girl, 10

Hello,
What brings you here?
I see.
Me, too.
Rose paste, spread under tight, white skin
And doleful black ink slashes, eyebrows, mince thin
Your eyes glowing, flexing like tidal waves
And smooth, dark pupils, the beginning of two round caves
You’re just beautiful. Lost bird
Would you tell me
your story?
Why does it look like
you are rough, hued in tones of over-baked clay
an old craftsman, before letting you tremble away
dug out your backbones and planted giant’s teeth in their stead
and lashed your body together with a mile of angry red thread?
You whisper terrors
and anywhere you begin, I will follow you to end
Your stomach, making a small, squishy fold as you bend
Crawling and bleeding the image of war rends
Once you hear the burning, take your place in line
I have also lost it all, but now, my precious bird
at least stay mine.