compromise
i don’t think about harming myself
but i do think about having an accident
—p
Consider the Labyrinth
As far as metaphors go the road and river
get all the glory. Yes, yes we get it…
the road is like life, you never know where
it will take you; the timelessness of the river,
the adventure, etc., etc.
But the beauty of the labyrinth is that it’s all
there in front of you, not an endless river,
but compact circular timefulness, like
clockwork.
You know what you’re getting into, welcomed
by the long path of crushed stone underfoot—
it teaches you to trust well before you arrive
at the entrance, a line of well-manicured green.
You go slow, you only need to know so much.
When we first got your diagnosis, we wanted
to know everything, leave no stone, so we stayed
up all night online trying to maze through it in
one night—the treatment, the surgery, the recovery—
be done.
As you continue the approach, you understand
labyrinth walls are illusions, always more around
hidden corners. The labyrinth forces trust, forces
listening, forces slowness, your footfalls on gravel,
heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe, guided to the
ultimate center.
The end is, of course, a long way, yet there it is,
visible from the beginning, predictable, geometric,
nearly next to you at times. Sometimes,
we’re tempted to step over the line, get there
quicker, speed up the process, fast forward to
recovery.
But we stayed the course, followed the pattern
until it stopped. Silence: that instrument that
can transform noise into music. We found our
centering, prayed our prayer, turned around
and retraced our steps home.
—Jacob Gamage
Identity Theft
A dog stole my identity.
He bought a plane ticket to St. Thomas
To start an animal adoption clinic.
Once done, he flew to New York
To feed the dogs in Coney Island and find them homes too.
Then it was Amtrak up to Albany
To dig holes
So senior citizens in assisted living
Could more easily plant flowers and trees.
You see, he is better than me,
Which explains why I never cancelled my credit cards.
—Don Ferber
Strawberries
there are so many things I have not seen
the blue earth from space
Everest’s sparkling summit
the narrows of Thermopylae
and those unlit beaches below Troy
the cobblestones of Constantinople
and the forest-crowned cave at Narni
a gold medal hanging around my neck
my first novel in a bookstore window
a woken tiger stalking me
the tornado funneling toward my home
zombies stepping from the woods
missiles falling from the sky
and yet I’ve seen my share—
the last rattling breath of loved ones and strangers
a blizzard breaking over South Georgia Island
loons rising from a darkening lake
Jim Morrison romancing his microphone
the garden where Gandhi blessed his killer
a triple rifled into Fenway Park’s left field
my last child’s water birth
solitary smokers in doorways
children slogging through mud and sorrow
love surrendering to me
before vanishing away on the ebb tide
sunrise spearing light across the desert floor—
even the unquenchable thirst of devotion
But after last night’s sleepless sorrow
who gives a fuck what I’ve seen or not?
These strawberries spilling across the kitchen table
the deer grazing in my buttery meadow
conjure neither sorrow or regret
and matter so much more
than my many hallucinations of meaning.
—Kemp Battle
7 Cups
My week was 7 bad cups of coffee. Rubbing
heartache across my ribs.
I thought of all the times I stayed.
All the times I didn’t. I thought of Plath
and the oven and it made me sad.
I thought of tulips and bees.
My year was 52 times I got back up. Washing
salt from my pillowcases and starting again.
I thought of waterfalls and rivers.
I thought of the umpteen times I went out on a limb
and didn’t fall. I thought of Oliver
and wondered if the geese were calling me home.
—Libby Grace Mosher
Love Song Alternate Style
for BG in loving memory
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
like a St. Bernard sprawled out on a bed
We’ll sleep in slimy canine drool
and wake up moist.
Let us walk neon nights
rock music blaring from bars
overflow crowds dancing in the street.
How long since we danced shoeless on the grass?
We’ll explore the fruit orchards
taking huge bites from apples, pears
and peaches.
In the room the women sip their tea
And talk about shows on TV.
Let’s not waste time streaming
when we can experience Coney Island
throw caution to the wind
and ride the Cyclone.
Twice!
Let us roll up our pant legs
wade into salty seafoam
and not clean the sand
burrowed between our toes.
Let us go to the opera and not wear a tie
Let us go to dinner in our bathing suits
Let us wear our pajamas during the day
and our pants and boots to bed.
In the room the women sip their tea
And talk about eternity.
Our hair is thinning
Our skin is sagging
we’ll soon will be gone
sing the song of the poor swan
Let us romp and jump and run
Let us bounce and leap and fly
One day we will be leaning on an old stick
or riding in a chair with wheels
In the room the women sip their tea
and talk about arthritic knees.
Who knows how long we have
until the great gods call us home
and we return to nothingness
our ashes dissolved in the winds?
Who will remember us
when those who remember us are gone?
Eat a peach, goddamit!
Eat two or three!
Toss away your tea cups
No more useless blather
Throw yourself into the first
mosh pit you find.
—Alice Graves
Overheard in a Bookstore
Standing nearby,
I couldn’t see the book’s title,
but would like to believe it was mine.
“It’s not fair,” she said to her friend,
“all these words should be available
to everyone, not just poets.”
I was hoping she wouldn’t,
but then she put the book of poems
back on the shelf
and then they walked away.
Hoping now it was not mine,
but still disappointed in her decision,
I almost called out, “Wait. They are,”
but didn’t want to tell them the truth—
they aren’t. They’re only available
to the lucky few.
And only in the rarest of times.
—Robert Harlow
In Joshua Tree
alone at last,
children sleeping
under the light of
a sand-cracked moon,
we chose to kiss instead
—Cassidy Payne
After
After I die
And after a pause
You’ll continue to do
The things you did
Before I died
—Ze’ev Willy Neumann
Clouds beam glowing edge.
Gray resting on golden light.
Guide me home at dusk.
—Judith Lechner
Mommy and Daddy
Mommy and Daddy danced
with a pink scarf on Saturday
but it was not like ballet.
Then they got a scarf that was gold,
then the Rabbi gave me a toy Torah to hold!
I liked that, but I’m very shy.
No one knows this yet, but some babies far away
got their heads chopped off today.
When I’m older they will tell me about the homeland.
The drummer with our Simhat Torah Klezmer band
is an atheist and wonders about religions,
I don’t know this yet.
Someday, Mommy and Daddy will tell me about atheists.
After the dancing, all the grownups,
and the drummer, made a giant circle and held
a long piece of paper where a lot of words were spelled
I liked being with all the grownups and the kids.
Some were dancing
Others were sitting
Some were crying
—Imogene Putnam
these hounds of desire
never flagging, at my heels
häagen dazs on sale
—John Kiersten
The wind has a bite
and so does my neighbor’s dog:
unfriendly weather
—Danielle Woerner
This article appears in January 2024.
