Bath Mat

Today

you called out

“Do you work here?”

and you told me

“I need a bath mat.”

and I pointed to the back wall

and said, “There they are, 

down below all the towels.”

“NOT A TOWEL!” you snarled. 

“Bath mat. M-A-T. 

You know what a bath mat is, don’t you?”

Like I was the stupidest person in the entire world.

And I need you to know that

while today

I loaded up that mini-fridge for you

Climbed the ladder in the back room to retrieve 

that one kind of special rice cooker you wanted 

Broke down over a hundred boxes

Unwrapped every individual spoon

Gathered up your used Starbucks cups

Chirped “absolutely” and “let me scan that for you”

dozens and dozens of times

once, I was a king.

Once,

years ago, I stood on a mountain top

and all the world was still.

The green hills spread on all sides around me

The river shone like a mirror reflecting the wide pale sky

The road snaked down in both directions until it 

disappeared in the folds of the lowlands

I felt the magnetic pull of ancient dirt beneath my feet

And my heart was a full-throated song

So yes,

Here are the bath mats.

I do know what that word means.

Can I help you find anything else?

Let me check if we have it in the back.

I’m so sorry but we’re actually out of that.

No, you can’t buy the display model.

Pardon me while I just squeeze through here.

Hope you have a nice day!

There was a flower that grew by the roadside

on that day 

up high on that mountain

As a king I could have crushed it

but no wise king ever would.

Calculations: Five (Bad) Poems from an Age of Pandemic

CALCULATIONS

We have the calculator out

Trying to figure out

If we can afford to call out

New cases at work.

Three people tested positive,

Though they’ve only told us about one

Multiply the time we spend 

By the value they give it

Then render unto Caesar

Next we subtract (rent)

Subtract (utilities)

Subtract (groceries)

There’s always a forgotten need

Or a hidden cost

We can never account for all of it

The numbers balance in our favor today

But even on the days they don’t

I think we’ll still make that call

Because the value they give our time

Is meaningless 

If our time comes prematurely to its end

HAND WASHING

We put our belongings in employee lockers 

(touched by countless other hands)

then we clock in on a time clock keypad 

(touched by countless other fingers)

We gather a device and walkie talkie 

(neither of which was probably cleaned),

swipe at them with Clorox wipes, 

and take up a communal pen to sign them out.

                       After this, we wash our hands.

We go out and do our jobs. Touching so many boxes. 

Products on shelves. The handles of ladders. 

Carts and vehicles that may or may not have been sanitized.

At some point my morning coffee hits me and it’s time for bathroom trip number one.

       I wash my hands before going 

because of everywhere I’ve been, everything I’ve touched.

                       I wash my hands after going 

because of my own germs.

More work. More boxes. More merchandise.

It’s time for break. We really should wash our hands before heading to the lockers,

but we’ve gotten lazy. We grab our lunch bags from the lockers then head to the sink.

        We wash our hands.

We snack on our break.

Because our hands have been so close to our mouths, 

when break is over 

        we wash our hands again.

We’re touching everything you’re buying. 

Unpacking, unboxing, shelving.

Hours more pass and it’s time for lunch. 

Repeat.

        Wash our hands

Eat

        Wash our hands again.

There may be another bathroom break.

                        Wash

Pee

                        Wash

A second fifteen minute break

                        Wash

Eat

                        Wash

Then the end of the day

Clock out

                        Wash

Gather your stuff from the lockers

which could still be germy, so

                        Wash them yet again.

So far we’re at thirteen hand washes a day

times 5 days a week (or 6 during the holidays)

every week of the year

Our hands sting. They bleed. They look like gnarled tree bark.

There’s not enough lotion in the entire world

to quench the thirst of our water-scarred skin.

I’m not a doctor. Not a medical provider.

I realize this could be so much worse.

And I’d rather bear this harsh and stinging pain 

than leave here in a hearse.

THANKSGIVING

Your friend has cancer

and she’s been so lonely

It’s the sort of thing where

she found solace in the idea

that maybe her friends would

visit her when things got bad

And now things have gotten bad

for the whole damn world

and out of love for her

you stay away

What can you say to the loneliness

that feels abandoned and betrayed?

What can you say?

And she celebrated Thanksgiving

with her family, her husband, her parents, 

and her sister who has been living with 

whatever friends will take her in

during a period of joblessness

It was something of a terrible risk

And it’s a choice we all have to make

though perhaps not to this extreme

Any closeness right now could be a weapon

but factor in to your equation

the idea that, yes, this holiday together could kill me

but either way this Thanksgiving may also be my last

And what can you say to that?

There’s nothing to say

WHAT WE TEACH

My friend is an ESL teacher in Spain

There’s an outbreak at her school

Five students and two teachers sick

But the city mayor is a fool

They’re not allowed to cancel class

She’s got symptoms, but can’t call out

It’s the last week before Christmas break

Just—make it through somehow!

Tests aren’t available ’til January

Which holds its own moral conundrums

To line up for hours with others getting tested

Means she fears to both infect them or catch from them

The children she teaches are rather young

They need help with the scissors and glue

They don’t understand social distancing

She doesn’t know what to do

That same dilemma as before

I’ll get them sick, they’ll get me sick

The mayor wants the parents to go to work

So the schools have to babysit

What is this teaching the children, I wonder?

A moral system devoid of empathy?

That “compassion” comes before “money,”

but only in the dictionary

NO MATTER WHAT I DO

No matter what I do

I’m putting someone at risk

I can go to the store

but the clerk there

has no choice but to come in

I can order delivery

but the delivery person

has to pick it up for me

I could never leave my house

but somewhere a person

is being paid to gather items from my shopping list

a driver

is being paid to transport the boxes that contain them

a postal worker

is being paid to bring them to my door.

Me staying in requires 

others to be out in the world

I can’t control others’ choices

I can only control my own

which is why my calculations

keep letting me down

There’s no number I put in

or scenario I run

where the end result is

zero damage done

Los Dos

My dad was in a car accident today. A car sped across the intersection as he was going northbound and a big truck was going southbound. The car missed my dad but got clipped by the truck, spun out, and hit my dad's car head-on. The air bag deployed on impact, but the car wasn't done moving; it spun around and slammed into the guard rail on the side of the road, which means the air bag was already deflated when the major impact happened. As a result my dad has some lacerations and major bruising from the seatbelt, but thankfully no punctured lungs or organs. He's at home now, on the recliner in front of the TV. Mom reports that he says his muscles scream when he moves too much, he bit into his tongue badly on impact so they're eating soup for dinner tonight, and of course all those bruises will take time to heal.

He could have died. He could have died and I haven't seen him since July, and I haven't really been myself around him since a couple years ago. And I wish I was a better daughter. I wish this pandemic hadn't happened. I wish my parents could enjoy their retirement. I wish they'd welcome the wonderful person I'm dating into the family the way they welcome my brother's partners. 

I've been carrying around so much that it's sitting in my jaw. There's this pressure in the upper jaw. I'd relax the muscle if I knew what to do but I don't. It's like this constant tenseness. I'm clenching even in my sleep sometimes. My body craves aloneness, utter silence.

I don't want to break his heart right after something like this, but I need to tell them. I was hoping to tell them in October so they'd have time to come to terms with Thanksgiving and Christmas. I hate that telling them is like choosing. Maybe I'm just thinking about it that way and putting words in their mouths, but I'm afraid they'll look at it like me choosing - choosing her over them. I already know she sees it that way, as choosing - all this while I haven't told them has been me choosing them over her.

I'm so bad at choices.

¿Por que no los dos?

I love her, and I love them. And I wish they could love each other.

What a broken world we live in.

I'm afraid anymore to hope.

Or like my dad today - the horror of the incident, the miracle of being spared. 

(Is that all we have left to hope for? The miracle of being spared?)

Extinction

Extinction is a brainsick animal
It gorges, it consumes, it's one vast maw
A locked-open jaw, swallows in one gulp
A greed beyond survival
A black hole of devouring, extinction is

Extinction is a forgotten glacier
It melts, it shrinks, it's the tortoise at the finish line
Out of sight and out of mind, slow yet unceasing
An elephantine blind spot
Oblivion dangling in a single drop, extinction is

Extinction is the absence you'll never fill
It's endless, it's immutable, it's an echoing hall
the sands surrounding Ozymandias' pedestal, forgotten songs
Alphabets of redemption no one left can read
A mirror: empty, yet full of stunning clarity, extinction is

the monster at the heart of the world

And the monster at the heart of the world
stretches out a claw
slices your heart clean open
and the blood spatters down
like tear drops
and where it falls
new flowers grow

Are they poison?
It's a risk
(isn't life
isn't any of this?)

They smell lovely
and I'm hungry
(where did you go?
why did you go?)

It's your own future, it's your own life
wield your machete
hack with your knife
snip away all you won't miss
carve a path
Do not apologize
Do not look back

Is it crazy?
It's a risk
(isn't life?
isn't any of this?)
I'm just tired.
I don't know.
(where did you go, friend?
why did you go?)


.


For Megan Burnett
May 2, 1989 - August 18, 2019

Keyhole

As I was paying for my purchases at Food Lion tonight, the cashier, a young black woman with a clean-shaven head, big red-framed glasses, and a delightful smile, glanced down and spotted the keyhole tattoo on my ankle.

"What's the significance of the keyhole?" she asked.

I shrugged and stammered. I've struggled with trying to explain it before. I said something along the lines of, "It's a long story. It has a special significance for me, with a certain loved one."

"Ah," she nodded knowingly, slipping the bag with my bread and tortilla chips into the cart.

As I thanked her and was about to walk away, she added, "Does someone else have the key?"

She meant a tattoo, perhaps on their ankle. That would be cute. Especially for a couple to do. She couldn't have meant the other meaning, my meaning, the real answer to her questions.

"Yes," I said, matching her smile. "Yes they do."

Exiled Kings

We share a world
We share a sky

(I'd rather share a kiss though, wouldn't I?)

We share a laugh
We share a sigh

(I'd rather share a life.)

(She's magic and I'm embers
Nobody here remembers
I used to be a flame
But now I struggle daily
To live up to the promise
Of my extraordinary name.)

Exiled kings. That what he said we are
Maybe my crown was broken for a reason
Maybe I was sent away to stay forever
I've bent my head and knelt before you
Queen of my heart, I adore you
But deserve you? Never.

We share a distance
We share a pang

(I'd rather share a name.)

We share a past
We'll share a present soon, together

(I'd rather share forever.)