September 12-18, 2005: Kirsten Ogden and Jonathan Hayes

Kirsten Ogden and Jonathan Hayes

Sybil’s Sister Let me tell you a story about wind and crows and two boys on shiny bicycles fighting for the ramp to flight to spinning wheels and warm rubber burning and hot to touch legs straddling over bicycle chains Let me tell you a story, she said, she said to me, only to me, she said Let me tell you a story She rocked and rocked watched her watch me watch her Raggedy Anns shiny button eyes from deliberate quick thread reflecting a sky full with rain, branches running in fright Raggedy Anns can’t lie Where have the days gone? Where has the ace of spades rubberbanded to the bicycle spoke disappeared to? Rumble tumble listen for it you can ride your motorcylce anytime you goddamned well please hum rum forget that slap of bare feet—tell me where your days have gone? Coconut girl mango sap covered fingertips too many aunties asking Do you know anymore where you are? I can’t tell you, do you know any more why the cat rubs your ankle when you’re on the toilet why the words never come why the right time is always tomorrow why you never know if and when and how only need, need, need to know where the day has gone There are boys outside on bicycles shiny red jumping speed bumps bodies full of hope full of lust of possibility of destination clink bottle cap music of today roar loud Let me tell you a story breathe it in breathe it in the moment star fruit fell from sky like pie, banana cream chunks drop to ready tongues—come with me I’ll tell you there are tomorrows there full and ripe like the Chow who didn’t know the birth would be too much Listen for the day break rattle like bone bottle glass picked up on a beach and shaken in a paper bag I’ll tell you this, I’ll tell you wind and rush through a whispered voice I’ll tell you “nothing, nothing to be ‘fraid of shhhh” I’ll tell you the days fall away don’t forget to watch your toes wrinkle in wet sand have you forgotten days are today Love, tell me, have you ever ridden on the handlebars of a shiny red bicycle dreaming like in a scream hillside sick with giddy fear Don’t do that, rock it all away, don’t do that, tell me it’s a thing children do and then go about your life wondering where this day, that night, where goosebumps from first kiss where stung jellyfish shouldering wiggling rice cake fortune cookie almond tofu where this day, why that end of world feeling someday someday you’ll be at the end watching just watching nothing but stop and listen Let me tell you a story a woman cleaves her children tight to her single breast, for the other was lost to the knife on a hot day when the girl down the street made cherry lemonade let me tell you this man walked his lover through brumble of blackberry bushes kissed the river-flushed lips until they bruised let me tell you a sister can move her tongue in and out of the missing space where her tooth once slept as her cousin sings grace under the ceiling fan I will tell you there is much more to unearth How long since your last love affair the palm of your hand the soft breast thumb moves up and over nipples that sing like sirens the feel of warm cotton the slipped off skin the water cupped in your hands for thirsty marigold the glass full of light forcing open sleeping buds Days gone into wind, into last shadow across swimming pool into the man push the lawn mower around the big stone covered in shiny ribbons of adventurous snails Don’t ask for the day, look for it, Henry who plays piano at 7:30 every evening while a cup of tea listens on the bench beside him Claire de Lune calls to crows You are not so lost Find your day in the licked clean paws and toes and tails in the fat palm of ginger smelling up the joint, in the shy boy belly full pink watermelon sleeping with kittens in the curly haired kazoo player humming Hapa Jones in the barefooted Paneole checking his pickup for a stick of Big Red in the bandana headed hot mama cracking Pecans with a rubber mallet for slice of pie Let me tell you a story she said it to me, to me only, she said let me tell you a story about a girl who found the day, reached out and grabbed it in both fists and pulled it in close Something On My Mind .A Found Poem 1 Down the years, the written word has incurred crucifixion, beheading, stoning, castration, burnings, outrage, vehemence, intemperance, and a bigotry that veers from the righteous to the superstitious [ ] Writers have been in the trenches from time beginning Euripides, [ ] was driven out of Athens around 409 B.C , his crime being his unflinching depiction of the evil inherent in both God and man [ ] May, 1957 [ ] two police officers—in San Francisco went into the City Lights bookshop and, for seventy-five cents, purchased a copy of “Howl and Other Poems,” by Allen Ginsberg They then obtained a warrant for Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s arrest, who was charged with violation of Section 311, for willfully and lewdly selling the book [ ] [ ] Allen Ginsberg’s odyssey of subways, Benzedrine, spilt brains, bare buttocks, and easy lays proved grist to the mill of its defenders, who argued that this nightmare world reflected this author’s rage and loneliness, and was figurative of America itself on the verge of breakdown— Edna O’Brien in an American Academy of Arts lecture, 2005 2 I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, –from HOWL by Allen Ginsberg 3 I think I hear you singing it singing it leaning out into this rainy dusk with its trees full of wet leaves & cursed opportunities you wanna be saved from your self you wanna be saved from your self you wanna be saved from the words that crawl in and out of your eyes that 300 page novel stopped in the middle the weight of words in that dance pushing down breath through shoulders through throat chest and belly down where hands hug hip bones when you’re afraid someone’s gonna find out your truth and see that you with the uncle who hides track marks on his arms or that guilty you who pulled mama up from the corner that day her body froze or that you afraid to say it standing alone but I am with you when you think you can’t really say what you wanna say and I am with you when you think there’s only one right way and I am with you when you wanna run from the day and I am with you when you hear someone say don’t don’t don’t don’t say that don’t do that don’t speak that don’t breathe that don’t wear that don’t think that don’t try that don’t don’t don’t don’t listen to that shit You’re at your loveliest rolling on & not heading for the door stop looking at the floor there’s no Sugar Chicago at your feet It’s in the air there and it’s all good I want to hear about how you shift tombs into wombs I want to hear about Georgia Blue and her black eye liner I want to see the you behind that masked empty of the girl who walked away I want to hear about love be the bad loser be the one who won’t let go be the voice that can’t stop singing be the word without the pen and paper because we write in the head in the heart in the gut listen to that instead be the wrong way until everyone else sees there’s no right way be the rain be the trees and the leaves be all the things you do in that test of your heart be sweet jane be blue Miles be everyone who has ever had a dream then tell me who reads these fucking protest poems anymore

At the Desk Eating a banana and listening to talk radio; I look out the window to see if it is raining – thoughts of her in the distant city. Awakening before the sounds of the City pass through the open apartment window, a bird on the fire escape sings a song, sung before the City was here. The News Sometimes humans are like TVs, if you get too close, reception is bad. Love on Market Street It was time for dinner, as I walked down Market Street toward a burrito joint off of Sixth When I crossed Fifth, my eyes made contact with a young, beautiful blonde; she gave me a million-dollar smile, then handed me a red rose, as we walked by each other in the middle of the street Back on the sidewalk, I looked at the red rose; it was the most beautiful red rose I ever saw And then I noticed a heart drawn by someone in blue magic marker on the green tissue paper it was wrapped in, and below the heart it said, “Pass it on “ So I started looking for girls to pass it on to, but there were only crackheads, bums, and drug dealers in front of the Warfield Theater On the other side of the street, I saw a young woman coming out of the Pearl Art store, so I handed it to her Frightened, she jumped back against the store’s front window and said, “I’ll pass “ Wine and Tea Lay down on futon at 12 in the night – not drunk, yet far from sober Sleep like snail in shell Wake at 4 in the morning – toss and turn, dreaming on and off Rise at 9 in the morning for work – buy hot water for one quarter, add green tea with ginseng Leaf river channels back to fruity sea.