Day 11: Asterisks

Asterisks

Beginning on a line by C. Dale Young

In the dream of fever, in the murky light of a mind ill at ease,
proportions often struggle for recognition. No wonder
they become out of shape; so easily relegated to an asterisk
or a chapter footnote, often skipped over.

If you care for detail as I do, you must pity the poor fellow,
seldom ever able to get a word in edgewise. It’s like
your father’s Oldsmobile. At one time it was the envy of your eye.
Now you’ve grown up and refuse to acknowledge that part of your youth.

Elections can be the same way. The loser drifts at sea to a lonely obscurity.
Then, there are some winners which we would later wish would joint that tiny speak
afloat in the abyss.

Some of our relatives that have become footnotes in the past. Many asterisks
piling up throughout history a part of that murky light.

Day 10

A spiked presence—

Before my eyes
A star with supplementary credentials
Far more prickly a presence

A perverse way of making points
And overload of opinion
Not at all shy of expression

The tentacles of the nucleus
Of radiant light
Obliquely insane

Day 2: Rage

Rage

Opened, a red blossom of anger
Long held in a tight fisted bud;
Too long—

Maybe it was annoyance once.
Irritation came and settled it its belly
And churned with the callous lies

Than ate at me like fire ants.
Irritation became causality
Of the spectacle of “awe” over Baghdad.

Like remnants of lives
Severed, charred and strewn about
Irritation could not survive.

The fury with which our own
Came home in boxes
Became the rage in full bloom today

You talked about political capital,
Suspended habeas corpus
Mortgaged future generations.

The audacity of
Mission Accomplished

Day 1 - Mama It's Me

Mama It's Me

A crimson aversion to the past
Gave me a decorative perspective
To my appearance

Gone are the days
When I was an acrylic girl
The people saw past

Even to my mother
I was transparent
Lost among three brothers

Mama knew everything
The boys were about
The football, track—

The red lipped
Lacquered face girls
They brought home

Nothing so much as a whimper
Of my hearts desire
Got through the door to her

But now I'm red red wine
A year reserved for special occasion
And she'll never see it