—SAVE SOME FACE, YOU’VE ONLY GOT ONE

 

Sleeping Scarecrows

 

I was there or the ghost of me was two frail scarecrows sleeping in a crib but now I wonder about the early years what they dreamt how their nights unfolded when not knocking down walls or each other was their courtship long was there honest love between them the kind that would make a boy like me was there betrayal were there flowers boxed chocolates giddy laughter and slow-dancing in the trailer before the tornados hit did my father’s hair tonic always glisten did he stumble with his diction was mother’s dripping with distain did the neighbors notice where was the dog from the photos where were my brothers were my father’s hands larger than mine are now and did they hesitate at all before clutching one last time

—THAT’S JUST THE WAY IT IS

  

How it is How it happens

 

Stuck in traffic he sees now how things fall apart planet wilting under exhaust fumes drivers fixated with messaging a man two cars over shaving (with blade and cream) in the rearview dogwalker on the sidewalk leading nothing on a leash bookstore out of business next to a Mac emporium his wife’s number flashing on the seat as he unwraps the half-empty fifth beside him

—FIRST THE WINDOW, THEN IT’S TO THE WALL

 

                Store that
              contaminated
            fetus
          of dioxin in
        the womb
      line those lungs
    with the snowflakes
  of asbestos
—From “Plain Truth” Jayne Cortez

  

 

“you won’t see them often

for wherever the crowd is

they

are not.

those odd ones, not

many

but from them

come

the few

good paintings

the few

good symphonies

the few

good books

and other

works.

and from the

best of the

strange ones

perhaps

nothing.

they are

their own

paintings

their own

books

their own

music

their own

work.

sometimes I think

I see

them – say

a certain old

man

sitting on a

certain bench

in a certain

way

or

a quick face

going the other

way

in a passing

automobile

or

there’s a certain motion

of the hands

of a bag-boy or a bag-

girl

while packing

supermarket

groceries.

sometimes

it is even somebody

you have been

living with

for some

time –

you will notice

a

lightning quick

glance

never seen

from them

before.

sometimes

you will only note

their

existence

suddenly

in

vivid

recall

some months

some years

after they are

gone.

I remember

such a

one –

he was about

20 years old

drunk at

10 a.m.

staring into

a cracked

New Orleans

mirror

facing, dreaming

against the

walls of

the world

where

did I

go?”

–Charles Bukowski, "The Strongest of The Strange"

  

 

sometimes I think the gods

deliberately keep pushing me

into the fire

just to hear me

yelp 

a few good

lines.

they just aren't going to

let me retire

silk scarf about neck

giving lectures at 

Yale.

the gods need me to

entertain them.

they must be terribly

bored with all

the others

and I am too.

and now my cigarette lighter

has gone dry.

I sit here

hopelessly

flicking it.

this kind of fire

they can't give

me.

~ Charles Bukowski, "this kind of fire"

 

 

An Octopus Has Three Whole Hearts

 

and sometimes I lie awake thinking
about all that lub-dubbing
on the ocean floor and no one to hear it.
What kind of god gives a cephalopod
three but a human only one?
I want more thumps. I want more time.
I want to waste my love on everything.
Give me heart for Ohio. Another
for a silk butter moon. Another
for the park bench man who swoons
for dives, his quiet hands full of crumbs.

--Joy Sullivan

 

—HOW’S THAT BRICKLAYING COMING?

  

…It was a frosty day yesterday, but the ducks still had a meet-and-greet out on the dock. 

 

…If you’re lucky enough to miss someone, even terribly, you’re lucky indeed.

 

…“Christians are hard to tolerate. I don’t know how Jesus does it.” Bono

 

…Maybe you’re happier now and you don’t even know it.

 

…A while back, it was one of my best friends’ birthday and when I asked what the best part was he said, “Nothing specific. I just sort of embraced gratitude for being alive.” It sounds corny now, but it didn’t then. I totally understand what he meant.

 

…“I think my life didn’t seem my life until I started to write.” Louise Gluck

 

…How many things do you know with absolute certainty? I’m only asking, because I’m wondering it myself.

 

…Slang is tricky, especially contemporary slang. Like “convo” for instance. I kind of can’t stand that made up word.

 

…I wish I had something to lean on for all those times I think it doesn’t matter.

 

…Why can they say “expletive” or show “F**k” on the TV but not just say the fucking word? 

 

…"Possibly, then, writing has to do with darkness, and a desire or perhaps a compulsion to enter it, and, with luck, to illuminate it, and to bring something back out to the light.“  Margaret Atwood

 

--Kuntz, you know what your problem is?

--I have a few guesses.

--You think too much.

 

…When you meet someone who has an Andy Gibb 8-Track in their El Camino, well, you’re probably going to be best friends for life.

 

…This was posted on the neighborhood website a while ago and is pretty funny:  

“I don’t mean to be a Grinch, however...to those of you who are placing Christmas lights/decorations in your yards, would you please avoid anything that has Red or Blue flashing lights together? Every time I come around the corner, I think it's the police and I have a panic attack. I have to brake hard, toss my wine out the window, put out my joint, fasten my seat belt, throw my phone on the floor, turn my radio down, and push the gun under the seat. All while trying to drive. It's just too much drama, even for Christmas. Thank you for your cooperation and understanding.”

 

…So many people want to be right all the time. I hope I’m not one of them.

 

…Isn’t it supposed to be getting lighter earlier and staying light out later? Maybe in Mexico it is.

 

…"Everyone should see how complicated, how deeply troubled, and yet at the same time, beautiful and awesome the world can be. Everyone should experience, even as the clouds gather, what's at stake, what could be lost, what's still here."

- Anthony Bourdain

 

…Can you ever be too skinny? Probably. Probably not.

 

…I haven’t seen a Clay City in a long time.

 

…You can fuck up and still be okay as long as you ________.

 

…It seems like what really matters most is effort—how much you exert with yourself, those you love, and the things that matter most to you.

 

…This little office fireplace is already getting a workout and not even a single snowflake has fallen.

 

…From where you stand, it might look like I don’t know what I’m doing. And you’d be correct.

 

…“Remember when Tom Holland was asked why he doesn’t walk the red carpet with Zendaya at her premieres?

It was in an interview just before their engagement, and he said:

‘Because it’s not my moment, it’s her moment, and if we go together, it’s about us.’

That hit me. Sometimes, love isn’t about always being in the picture… it’s about knowing when to step back and let someone else shine.

It’s about being proud from the sidelines, knowing their moment doesn’t make you any less important.

Supporting someone doesn’t mean you have to be front and center. It’s being there, quietly cheering them on, and celebrating their wins like they’re your own.” --Prince Umpad

 

…Sometimes a long time ago seems like it was yesterday, and then sometimes yesterday feels like it was a long time ago.

 

…Sometimes the things that seem the most stupid are the ones that save you in the moment.

 

…Fantasy football is for suckers. Just look at me: I’m one of them.

 

…I saw a series of photographs of my (biological) dad yesterday. In most of them, he looked a lot like me. He looked happy. I know he was a super nice guy, everyone said so. I wish I would have known him.

 

…I don’t know why people complain about their doctor. I’ve never had one that wasn’t kind and incredibly competent.

 

…I read an article about a New Jersey woman whose husband died when she was 88. She then told her family she was starting fresh, sold her house and belongings and bought a walk-up in Manhattan. She’s now 102 years-old. She gets her own groceries, gives guided tours at the MoMA and walks a minimum of 3,000 steps every day, even if it means traipsing back and forth inside her home. I think about her almost every time I meet her step threshold, and then I keep walking.

 

…From an article in the Wall Street Journal; “Forget new year’s resolutions. Instead, imagine your deathbed.” 

That’s probably good advice, but I skipped the article.

 

…I think I’ll take a pass on the whole driverless car idea.

 

…Maybe it sounds stupid, but I think it’s pretty sad that how much they can afford determines whether a couple has children, or how many they have.

 

…People who don’t follow through on what they say ranks right up there with things I hate the most. 

 

…Maybe there will be robot puppies pretty soon. That’d be interesting.

 

…There’s something to be said for checking things off a list.

 

…Two things I never got around to: Learning to speak a foreign language fluently and learning to play an instrument competently.

 

…Do you ever notice how the nightly news begins with urgent, heart-pounding music to set the mood, and how they wait (literally) until the last minute to report good news? 

 

…I was always going to live in Manhattan for a year, but then I was going to do a lot of things.

 

…I’ve got nothing to complain about, yet, on occasion, I do it nevertheless.

 

…It’s a little peculiar to have strangers working so hard to lower your heart rate. 

 

…When you get older you realize that people who say, “There’s always tomorrow,” have no idea what they’re saying.

 

…One of my goals this year is to write a happy piece that doesn’t totally suck.

 

…I suppose we all have friends whose friends we don’t like. I know I do.

 

…Never say never. Now those are words to live by.

 

…Here, read this. It has many pictures. Later we’ll get ice cream.

 

…By and large, writers are quirky people. Introverts. Creative types. Observant and perceptive. I love them. I just wish so many didn’t whine so much.

 

…People who love to read always get moved way up on my most liked list.

 

…One of the dumbest questions you can ever be asked is when your dentist, after stuffing metal instruments inside your mouth and poking around, says, “Are you nervous or something?”

 

…If 2025 is a fourth as successful as 2010, it’ll be a win not seen in a while.

 

…But don’t worry, there’s still time to ruin everything.

 

—THERE MUST BE SOMETHING IN THE WATER

 

 

Blueberries

 

Late spring brings

nothing but torrents

the mornings musty

with decay and 

impressive silence

or a best-kept secret

I follow you

like a stooge 

like our old dog 

needy and ashamed 

to be suspicious of 

a season or its claim

These bushes were 

at least forty years 

old when we moved in 

and they’re older now 

everything is 

Around us bees 

bounce and stumble

industriously or obliviously 

depending upon 

the contents of the cup 

you’re holding

Later 

however long from now 

the berries will ripen 

their fruit 

pouched tight 

and purple 

like a bruise that

never heals

 —NOW IT’S JUST A STORY THAT YOU TELL

 

Almost Perfect

 

With a stick of driftwood, you scar the sand, giggling off and on as gulls swoop and float overhead, a dingy bobbing on the horizon, all of it nearly perfect like our honeymoon decades ago, long before lost keys, forgotten names and places, doctors and tests, things that matter but don’t now, not so much, just the fact that we’re still together, me studying your childlike reprieve, leaning over your sunburnt shoulders and wispy gray hair as you titter some more, point the stick and say, “This one, this one looks a lot like you, whoever you are.”

 —WE DRANK A TOAST TO INNOCENCE, WE DRANK A TOAST TO NOW

 

…That’s my niece, Gracie, attempting to make a snow angel out of confetti. She’s a wonder and, yes, she’s also as darling as she looks.

…I hope your night was memorable and that you spent it with someone you love. I’m guessing you did.

…I’m letting New Year’s linger a tad and will start things anew on Monday. Until then, here are three of my favorite holiday stories from last year:  

Love is the Way My Friends Laugh

I spent the last night of Hanukkah knee-deep in potato peelings with my closest friends. None of them are Jewish, but they were all eager. We ate latkes, passed the Shamash around my dining room table so we could each light a candle on the menorah. Watching my friends take such care with a religion that is not their own evoked an unexpected tenderness. Love is the way my friends laughed as we stood around my kitchen island on my last Hanukkah at home before college, squeezing grated potatoes into patties and sliding them into oiled pans. 

— Rachel Lynch

 

Trusting the Edge

A family holiday card that year would have shown our faces being scratched out: father dead, mother in assisted living, one brother in a coma. I’d just broken up with a dishonest, possibly-cheating-on-me-boyfriend. My brother Gary took me ice-skating at the local rink. He was graceful and fluid; I tottered on wobbly ankles. He skated over with ibuprofen, a Walkman and headphones. Coltrane was playing “My Favorite Things.” “Trust the edge,” Gary said. Soon I was gliding along, no longer depressed or caring if I fell. I knew he would be there to help me up. 

— Kim Addonizio

 

Back in the Rhythm of Conversation

My 14-year-old, Vedant, dwells in a dungeon (i.e. basement) under my bedroom. Through the muffled cadence of his voice, I deduce if he’s in virtual school or playing an online game. Thrice a day, he comes up for air, asking, “What’s there to eat?” We used to talk a lot on our car rides, about life and feelings. Now we have nowhere to go. For the holidays, I make him my sous chef. Slicing a butternut squash, my knife slips. He takes my bleeding finger in his hand and blows a kiss. Food an excuse, we talk about feelings again. 

— Yogyata Singh Davé