it disappears

Trailways

Here’s a poem I wrote about thirty years ago, in a little city in Virginia:

Stopover

 

 

Brick mirage

in the flat stretch of parking lots,

the Trailways bus station rises,

a solid oasis

for those on the road.

For the natives,

it disappears

into the general route to the library

or the grocery store.

 

The inside,

between buses,

is as dark as a desert outpost,

stung by the smell of

french fries,

diesel oil,

soothed by the throbbing radio,

the regular breathing

of the Coke machine,

the foreign language of

arrivals and departures.

 

The local madwoman

makes it real.

She speaks a familiar accent,

but she braces the walls

like a sentry.

She asks me for money

as I walk by –

my payment

for staying home.

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/disappear/”>Disappear</a&gt;

 

 

 

 

 

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Toxic response to infection

Edvard munch The Child and the death                                   EdvardMunch-TheChildandtheDeath

Here is a poem I wrote about the grandmother who died long before I was born:

Septicemia

 

My mother’s mother died from

Septicemia

In 1922

Two weeks after she birthed

My uncles

At home

Delirious, tossing in the bed,

Then dead,

Stiff like marble

When they lifted my

Seven year old mother up

To kiss her goodbye.

 

Sepsis

Toxic response to infection

Pathogens

Raging from

A bed full of childbirth,

A barely noticed cut.

Septic

Blood gone bad

Coursing poison through the body

Poisoned muscles screaming pain

Poisoned heart slowing down

Worse than arsenic,

Body turned against itself.

 

 

 

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/infect/”>Infect</a&gt;

tides of noise, a crown of candy

crown of candy

Here’s a poem I wrote about twelve years ago:

After Laughter

after Ecclesiastes 8:15

 

Therefore I commend mirth;

so I praise laughter;

after all, I turn to grinning.

In the end, I prefer to chortle, to chuckle,

guffaw, snort, split my sides,

tears of mirth, earthy mirth,

rips of laughter, tides of noise, human breath gasping.

I can’t cry, but I can still laugh

at slapstick,

the foot on the banana, the pie in the face, the butt on the floor,

hit, broom! slice, twig!

I commend mirth!

I award a crown of candy,

reward hilarity!

Laughing wins, winds, winding around my guts,

splashing out my open throat,

tasting so much better than bile.

 

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tide/”>Tide</a&gt;