for little j.

r-i-e-p

 

 

 

when i first saw you as a child with the others, i remember seeing the promise in your eyes.

each brown smile a twisting panicle of loosely branched flower clusters. so terribly shy,

so osmium brittle in blue-black tube socks, but trying so hard to be tough like the others.

i could count the days i would give away till nightfall.

and

before we knew it, you had marched to the underground like the others. as if there was

a moon there or stars or some organic synthesis of essential oils like the s**t they

put in those six piece chicken nuggets.

cut.

like cutting some pictorial illustration or being eliminated from a large field from

further participation.

CUT.

 

so now we know for sure. There is no noticeable difference between dying

and a pocket-worn thesaurus. both come with those tiny subject headings

and descriptions. In both you take pause before scurrying around, tapping

the pages like those fingers in a stanley jordan concert before the music

flies off. both holding the secrets of the physical sciences dealing with the

non living.

 

i imagine you now flattened out like the rats we use to see in the morning

on  Gratiot Avenue, trying to dodge the southbound traffic, prehaps searching

for love or the dream of the cold pizza slice. did you enjoy POETRY or anything

at all but the rote guardianship of rap music, so loud you had to open the

car window to listen to it?

 

they gave your mother a bible at your funeral, the little ones they give

for free at airports or in hotel rooms. if you never saw one, keep this

image in eternity:  

 

               THE COVERS ARE ALMOST ALWAYS SHINY AND SOMETIMES THE

               WRITING ON THE PAGES, WHEN JESUS IS SPEAKING,

               IS UNDERLINED IN RED. RED LIKE THOSE RED DOVE RIMS

               OR LICORICE. 

Reviews

[I, Rene]

Red like lips, red like love, read like it's repeated Gansta style, whip and chains, remains of never was but wanted, read like life of a holy roller, red like blood, read like Hover dam
cracks in the wall of a red sea, red like me. read like you. Red like thank you in Russian.

[Circe]

i know of nothing to say to do this piece justice..... but it just made me feel something immense.. a heavy burning sensation in the chest.. something of reality, memory, lessons, wisdom, togetherness.... that's how we feel the essential tragedies... because we grow the hope in our peers as much as in ourselves.. how these life choices can change us so much though... reflecting on the minutest efforts of living... it seems to forgive what we are... but also challenges our observing....

[Tree]

Dana your exploration of the past and letters to your love ones is for me always a lesson in just how beautifully complex, memory can be. The associations you use through metaphor, and history, language and art, never fails to paint for me a vivid blue-sad image, or an arching, yellow /sweet landscape.... The imagery here will stick with me for some time.

Note: both of my thesaurus's are so badly worn I've tapped the corners to make them last longer. I did the same with my favorite poetry anthology:)


Diego

[Emily B]

my youngest daughter used to shine so brightly in her smiles that i was sure i would never hold her here long . . . age has worn some of the brilliance off her halo, and i am always hoping for more time, more time

[Emily B]

your words, by the way, are poetic bliss, the kind that happens in conversations real and imagined, the kind that captures real life, not that fairy tale crap that we all want to tape up at the windows, real life

[Holly Mason]

nice write love the comparisons thank you

[Corset]

i imaegine you now flattened out like the rats we use to see in the morning
on Gratiot Avenue, trying to dodge the southbound traffic, prehaps searching
for love or the dream of the cold pizza slice. did you enjoy POETRY or anything
at all but the rote guardianship of rap music, so loud you had to open the
car window to listen to it?

My favorite part though I've never ever like rap music, though all music has it's merit, like all poetry or all living creatures and even some dead one still give back more that they ever received. well done as usual, i'm afraid of sounding like a broken record, here but you give me no alternative.