Euphony
The pads of fingers kiss and synchronize with gravel tunes
and smooth notes, quick meter
and bounce
snap
baby, do you wanna dance?
Pointed nails trace lines and lyrics
and engrave them onto the nape of your neck
and mama tells you
she is sad
Violet violas play
as we lift up up and up
conducting with our pinkies
I see, I feel, I hear
light
She prays in spanish
clasps a golden cross
between her interlaced palms
She is thanking through furrowed brows
and speaks singsong
I complain about his knuckles,
swollen from beating his drum, punching bags, and cold faces
he replies in clops of drunken laughter
and blue bellows
Up
She climbed sedentary cement-levels
escalating through the house-front hole
lined with photosynthesizing unflowers
Fractured letter-post read “Thank you for caring”
iron-oxidized, corrosive
gnarly-hydroburnt
burnt
burn
She witnessed
dissociating benumb-white chill
idiosyncratic beads of saltsnow
both on the pavement and brimming the see-spheres of aunts and cousins
Inside smelled of coy co-chemicals
snuffed by undulating back-noise
gentle upcurved liplines that were quasi-fermented or rather,
rotten
Down the intra-footfalls
was light
and a casket
She imagined the lower person-place beamed boisterosity
saw his palms permeate pendulumic light
heard kinder loud-letter words
soft-spoke organic condolences
Still she remained at the uplevel
in troposphere of precipitated cumulus
not daring to dive
Up was unheavy
And there were finches
caged in encumbered plexi-clear
dipped in wavelength wing trails
crests and troughs hyper-reciprocated
always resurfacing
An Ode
A child
Deserving innocence
And undulating imagination
She knows nothing real
she will learn nothing physical
Mass renders gravity
And wakes
and crumpled cars
and broken bones and the first days of school; the world-rules
They only procure see-sphere tears
and foggy eye-ozone
My child
How her heart dilates
and her pupils pulsate-pump
In wonder and novel maturity
She sheds her adolescent hubris
Embalmed in adulthood rigor
She sprints through the increments
Exclaiming, “This year I will be brave and dance and I will be temerarious and wily
and I will be incisive and subdued and reluctantly phlegmatic
and I will be sometimes blue
I will learn about anti-motion emotion and I will master tardiness and I will gain
a few seething pimples, but of course, never pop them
I will quote Sophocles and misspell Oedipus Rex, and I will reinvent the alphabet,
eliminating the sequence ‘ine’ because it stifles round vowels and
breath
And I will be an un-childish”
Our un-child,
How she lives our love
Very beautiful poem.