In Redefining Relationships
Bone figures bursting into the spotlight,
leaving the dark becoming friends
with the sun. They signed a contract together.
Jesus and the bone figures bought
promise rings at the mall jewelry store,
gave them to each other at Red Lobster,
an in between location where both felt
relatively comfortable and uncomfortable,
sitting in a red and black booth wearing lobster bibs.
Working the ground
with my worn hands,
churning the morning soil
turned black by the night’s
feet pattering to the beat
of the Indian chief’s drum,
masquerading in feathers
crashing the rain dance.
Searching with my fingers
where the footprints dropped,
kissing Earth mother, moistening
her lips, calling up her desire,
for her thin slimy tongues
that burrow to the surface,
each with five French hearts
seeking more of those wet kisses.
reach to faucet
cool water soothes
Still reaching for the
I decided to stitch my own pants,
with the needle and thread
I took from my little sister’s
friend Kassie’s house, while “keeping
an eye out on the girls”—even though
I was only 12, a whopping year older.
I stole off and sniffed about Kassie’s
place, shuffled through the closets,
the layers of fresh folded towels,
and lined beauty products, but no thread.
I’d had it up to here
(apparently a height
between the chin and eyes)
with the holes in my jeans.
Holes in the knee and the crotch—
starting to fray. Looking even poorer.
The girls played Barbie with naked
Kens strewn about the dollhouse.
Went into her parents’ room,
riffled through the dressers, pulled soft satin
undergarments, and threaded ones without asses.
To the hard night stand
stuffed with wadded tissues
batteries, and remotes controls.
Slipped into the master-bath,
and found it in the medicine cabinet
next to the scents—
a traveler’s sewing kit.
Put the kit in my pocket
stitched my pants at home
and took to the road that night.
Drinks after drinking.
Drinks at meetings.
Thought I’d go thirsty.
Monsters and Red Bulls,
stale coffee with sweet and low,
and almost always a bottle—
for a baby. I’m not a baby.
Fiberglass racecar bed to show they love me.
Fighting in circles around the kitchen island. Mom and Dad.
Plastic rocking horses, swing set, backyard weed plants.