"try me"

Donna says,

"but not for friends request she would be

alone". And i'm crying while

i'm writing this. You see

we've given over all that's left of us. 

We hold our own hands. Jack off

in the towels of our own s**t mavens. 

Stop dana! No, don't stop. I think my God

the one I love more than me,

eats chitlins. Neckbones and potatoes. 

has a wooden stick always handy for

propping up the hood of his car. 

Pays only half his rent. Gets the "chrome package"

on his heavenly Mark V. And in that thrill of blood

and bondage nods to Coltrane at the Village

shimmy and shakes  to Muddy Waters. Rises to scream 

"that's my jam" when James Brown held

his eyes down on American Bandstand.

It was the sixties, they will tell you. That all

experience in time becomes a window

that sorts pain

through the smallest crack not calked. About this

alarmist , this savior who vaporizes all your stains

then twist ties them down

to plastic; to the one chair the bailiff's didn't toss

to the curb. And yet without acrylic nails

encrusted with faux diamonds, nor number 3 drag queen

eyelashes, nor high wasted shiny leggings a young Black

girl, skin

glistening in the Maryland sun, sung to us her magic words

and on that day herself became

the poem. 

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Reading your writing is like watching fireworks, the way you describe things is so explosive, so multi-colored, so unexpected. Besides you having orbital powers of observation, you also observe without judgement, which makes your word portraits so intriguing. The reader sees his/her own biases becuz of what your powerful imagery & inciting language provokes in a reader, but it isn't that you're labeling anything as anything. You're just being a movie camera in words (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[h d e rushin]

thanks Margie....I'm still trying.....dana

[Corset]

it wasn't too long ago that I was halfway through my day and thought "god, I am exhausted" and my mind went immediately to your review recently about the teacher and the box, in and out in and out all of us doing the same, we all have our little wh*res that beat us down, and I can't speak for all, but my kitchen drawer contains a rainbow of twist ties for all the stains that are deemed for emergency use only. I dream of Maryland and the wild horses on the beach, I might have had ancestors there, I have always wanted to go and see it for myself. As for wooden sticks, I have one for the couch to hold the cover on the seating back inside the crack behind the cushions, i have yet to try it out, it just waits for me, maybe today.

[h d e rushin]

to tell the truth, my mother has this same drawer in her kitchen that time has made her forget how to use. There is a certain consciousness about the qualifications for inclusion. because a drawer full of twist ties has this assimilation of value and acceptability that only a gaggle of twist ties can inhabit. It pushes culture aside in deference to function. Or at least it should.

On second thought, things ( fabric swatches, old photographs, spices stuck together by time and moisture or even love) creates this distensible pouch of pink resolve we kindly put our thrown silks into... And there is not a single time when, while driving with a car full, when you come upon a field of houses and someone doesn't yell out "horses" at the top of their lungs......i love you so much....dana

[Corset]

lol, or moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

[jacob erin-cilberto]

your title also reminds me of my dad...with a smile of course.

And how he would always say....when scolding us...."And if you think I'm kidding, Try me!"
I usually didn't.

[h d e rushin]

inflection, I was just thinking, is everything I guess Jacob . If I quicken "try me" and cut it off tersely, it becomes a challenge. But if I soften it and allow it to drift off in a some amorous distance, it is a plea of welcome and acceptance. "Try me, try me, try me, try me, darlin tell me I need you, try me" James Brown use to sing. Your dad was a stern man of habit and resolve.. I read it everytime I read a poem of yours....thanks again my friend...dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I hear Lou Reed's background singers...do da do da do do da do....
and that jazzy sax creating the mood.
"then he was a she"
this poem had me taking a Walk on that wild side...
Yes, it was the sixties...and sexual identity was being questioned...as were many other things.
I like the "savior who vaporizes all your stains/ then twist ties them down"
When I saw James Brown in concert, he had his eyes down but his feet always moving...and we danced
maybe to a different tune...
but that is life
and Dick Clark's American Bandstand told us we could all dance in our own way...and it was okay.
I love this poem
j.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my friend for those wonderful comments....dana