Untitled

Silence
radio off
so loud I

swim down
as a mermaid
to the Mariana trench

and lay down
drowned, or sleeping

in a million years I'm
a striation
a stripe
a red stripe

with the wind whistling over me

fossilized, just
one thing to the next

if you caught it all on film
and sped it up

without voiceover
narration
explanation

that's the wonder
of what it means
of why I did it
why any of it happened
whether it was drowning, or sleeping, or a
singular act of
transcendence

whether the truth
about mermaids

is that they are silent
or sirens
or at all.

Untitled

It was undoubtedly sweet
in the same way that red grapes are
when they have been in the refrigerator for
some time and have
softened. A flash of
something, pain, surprise, or
just unexpected sensation
from the cold of a grape
rendered by teeth in a hot mouth. She breathes
into the microphone
singing in a whisper with her
eyes closed
Remember me just a little
I don't have any comment on
any of her doings
or her song
except to say

know if you are asking
or telling
or if you're just enjoying a moment with
yourself and the
rest of the grapes.

I Did Not Give Myself Permission

Phyllis, and With the Years You Have Left

Enter

Fort Point Channel/Thursday/3 months

Untitled

Today I knelt down on B.'s floor mats and didn't say anything, or touch him. I got down to eye level, and tried to be in my whole body, with my whole self. B. had eyes open, looked at the ceiling mostly, once looked at me but through me. He tremored, he shook.

B. had a strawberry farm earlier in his life. I've seen the photo, blown up, him kneeling in the dirt, with a couple of other guys, caps on, smiling at the camera and holding fruit in their hands.

Oh, B. Who despite his frailty, still has a strong and to me handsome face. Something nice in his eyes. I slipped my hand to curve into his, and he squeezed lightly. Holding it.

Oh B. I would like to bring you strawberries, warm from the sun, break them into tiny pieces and put them in your mouth gently with my fingers. Have a bowl of rich damp soil to hold under your nose.

Today there was a catchy tune on your roommate's TV. It had the words love in it a lot - love is the thing, what do you love, something like that.

You looked at me and not through me. You said, slow but clear, I love you. Tapping your other hand in time to the music on the bedsheets.

I don't know where you are, where you go, most of the time. I hope its wonderful, in its fragmentation, in your brain. Like a kaleidoscope turning and turning with images that keep you in wonder. How does the brain work, do the things wrong in your brain also affect your dreams, or do you dream more clearly, less kaleidoscope, more memory? Do you hear yourself talk and do people answer you in your dreams. Do you do whatever it is you want to do there. Do you walk, have a kiss, wake up, find things.

I do love you too B. You are good, that comes through from you, just by looking at you. I loved to hold your hand today. I loved to have my skin on your skin and both of us having once eaten strawberries, picked from the plants in the dirt, warm from the sun.

That's where I am with you, with your neighbor's TV, with your fall mats and chart and draw sheet and tremors and eyes that open wide for no reason I can tell, here and there.

I meet you in the field. I think you're still a little bit in the field. I do love you, as you are. I tell you so.

I'm glad you're here. I'm glad I get to be yours and you get to be mine a little bit. I'll help you go when the time comes. I'll see you in the field.