--THERE WILL ALWAYS BE BETTER DAYS AHEAD

 

Archival

Where we begin

is always at the end of things,
time-tested and worn,
no friends for the faithless.
Someone should believe in the jetpack fairy,
a rainbow waiting for Spring.
Someone else should set the record straight.

 

Combat

My brother said, “We fight for this,”

meaning the right to wail.
His war was decades ago.
Now,
the new one rests in the moist eyes
of my baby girl
cooing crib-side.

 

 Insomniac

The lady looks a lot like my sister.

I roll down the window for her approach
while we both breathe.
That night,
winds claw the glass
like jarred yellow jackets.
On television they’re selling mouthwash.
On the moon
no one’s really watching.

 

Progress

We lean into headwinds guessing north.

Any other route would include certain slaughter.
There is no king or parliament.
In different countries they might yield machetes.
Here we rattle cups and whistle Dixie,
rereading fortune cookie slips,
blowing out the final candle.

 

Imbroglio

We take turns reciting lines before a mirror.

You say, “Someday everyone will win.”
At dinner,
I peak from one eye to be sure
Mother is really praying.
Sis says, “Pass the corn.”
Dad spies the news.
This is our piece,
one half of a someone else’s story.

 

Stalemate

They take down pictures--

creased faces, black and white widows.
They press dead flowers in between every other
testimony and name tag.
This was how the Khmer Rouge did it.
In someone else’s hands
there might be birthday cake and clowns.
Now there are only empty numbers.
No one has an answer,
but everyone wants a voice.