Golden Reflection 1 Yerevan, Armenia
The Recognitions
The pill you swallow will always be the sugar pill.
Going up, going down, both require the best shoes.
What to do with too many peaches, rubber bands, clocks, husbands,
Too many pictures of women in gardens, too many ifs,
Too many dreams where someone says “get out of my house.”
It takes a suit to make a lawyer, it takes a horse to make a cowboy.
Cherophobia: the fear of being happy.
There is only one way to make gunsmoke.
A tall woman marries a short man, she reaches for things, he tickles.
Pharmacists know the side effects of hope.
In an afternoon you can cut your hair, your nails, you can cut the crap,
The light, a trail, you can cut across, cut in, out and up.
The president of your senior class lives in poverty in New Mexico.
He’s survived being hit by a piece of space debris,
And his name is not Paul Pancake anymore.
He is a happy man.
A hospice nurse sings to a dying man.
In the morning his bed is empty,
His pillow warm, his shoes are gone.
Sing a song,
Save a life.
Spin the bottle, pick a card, don’t look back.
At night the chairs grow restless and chase the sofa.
At the Cardio Clinic
Little white desk, little white lies
A purple plastic replica of a human heart
Hinged to open for explanation, a heart that never beats
“Moon River” drifting from the ceiling.
Nurse Sandy, dressed in paisley scrubs
Checks my vitals, consults my chart
Touches my hand, her hand a feather
Does she know I’m about to get bad news?
Is she touching a dead man’s hand?
No, she says her heart’s been broken
Her partner vanished, a sunrise surprise
He’s taken the dog , the Wellbutrin, the blender
Now the majesty of sobs, the whisper of apology.
Dr. Dan enters the room, tan leather loafers aglow
Doctor’s cologne, a professional smile
4.3 stars, often a long wait, rude staff
Stethoscope dangling, ignoring Sandy’s heart
For mine, listening to the churning of my heart
Nothing has changed so keep up the meds
Feed the heart the blue, the red, the yellow.
The plastic heart wants to open up, for Sandy.
My heart murmurs its message: can’t be fixed
But Sandy’s can. Dr. Dan is gone, co-pay then I’m out.
In the cave of the heart, we are all on our knees.
about it
wood fired pizza
menued trailer
back open mouthed
can we get safe
ice cream now
you haven’t finished
your slice i love
pizza not all
kinds collapsible
desk thumps into place
phone cord plugged in
i like pizza too
for two or one
dream or two
in action even if action is only
talking about it laughing
about it being about it
Underneath
I was born
on the dark side of
a pinkish moon
between two suns
on a Thursday
morning in August
when hail melt
filled the streets with strawberry lemonade
while
my parents mended
their
marriage on the spot
for the first of
many times and my mother in
her sweet young voice
sang a soft lullaby of stars
and snowflakes
and gentle beasts that roam
the jungles and savannas
underneath what I’ve come to know as the other side of
a tilting whirring swirling dream.