New Jersey    1991 -   
Bernadette
Bernadette
2 days ago

I barely finished the introduction
a boy or maybe a man
I read Vietnam, monsoon rains, how he watched the dead ascend to heaven from the helipad...

I felt sad

Jesus Christ!

this boy or man
pelvis deep in the muck
trying to connect the dots, trying to figure out when he went from being Tommy to just plain Tom and if the Tommy part of him was gone for good

I felt sad

not for his life but mine

Jesus Christ!

I read jungle, napalm

in the muck

hell, and I'm connecting my own dots
how my voice feels hoarse,
how I feel like I aged a decade in one night's sleep,
how I fell in love with the shadow of a man

or boy

worried the church won't take me back

that the man or boy won't either


I go out for an easy stroll to think on it some more

he binges on carotene for the night-watch,
plays hopscotch over land mines,


I go out for an easy stroll


while Tommy and Tom wade through the muck

Bernadette
Bernadette
Mar 6      Mar 6

A single drawn out sigh
spanning two calendars in time
It milks my will to die
It's buried by the sign that leads to Bobby's Run blvd.

Excuse me if I repeat myself
I keep talking backwards until the past resurrects itself
Remember your front yard?
Remember the park?
You can have me again in the soft blue grass on Bobby's Run blvd.

I know what's said been said
Once the hollow gaps in relationships are filled with words
we can never return to those empty spaces,
just cover 'em with plaster apologies
And it's never a seamless repair--the discrepancies in paint colors are always there
I stare at a dark spot on my wall on Bobby's Run blvd.

Oh excuse me if I'm repeating myself,
I know I said there was nothing


Oh excuse me if I'm repeating myself,
In your haunting, I saw that there was something

Oh excuse me if I'm repeating myself,
You can have me

You can have me again in the soft blue grass on Bobby's Run blvd.

He marvelled at the city from the window above his kitchen sink,
counting all the things that hadn't changed
in twenty years of staring at it

The odds were organized the way he liked
that today--at least--would be as adequately good as the last
A pot of water set for one egg,
he watched it pirouette as it boiled, then
fished it out with a spoon--carefully bent
for such endeavors--and added three dashes of salt

"There comes a time in every man's life where he must choose to take a step to the left or to the right."

So baffled by his wife, he let the egg roll off the spoon

"Oh honey," she laughed. "I'm sorry. I need you to move out of the way, you're blocking the tea cabinet."

"Why didn't you just say that?"

He wiped up the mess and started over:

pot of water
one egg
bent spoon
3 dashes of salt

Then sat down at the table with the newspaper,
taking note of the date

He took a bite of the egg
pleased,
it was adequately good
like he knew it would be

Bernadette
Bernadette
Mar 3      Mar 3

this morning spring blew kisses to me in my bed
but the internet forecasts all say winter's far from dead
and the weatherman on the television said we're reaching record lows
so spring, unyielding sent a missionary breeze
that promised I would hear the neighbors playing with their kids
and smell the hyacinths, that I would see magnolia trees and feel like
rolling up my sleeves soon enough

though the streets are still lined with snow,
I looked outside my window and saw the sun

Bernadette
Bernadette
Feb 9      Feb 10

January, The Queen of Tragedies,
changed her name to Mae
Mae, Countess of the Fire Escape
watches the city get colder while mulling over
problems decades older than she--

because their undertones are sweet,
their answers guaranteed
because the present's too difficult to understand
and the future's too impossible to conceive

Mae, Midtown's Mistress, habitually begs the sun
for the moon's forgiveness

"It's much easier to sin after 6pm," she says

with a wink so well-placed and practiced
it fools the masses, corralling clientele
into her tiny apartment flat
re-lighting cigarettes, re-filling drinks
Rosemary Clooney croons
while the men swoon at her feet

And though she knows some day they'll up and leave,

She doesn't pay any mind to time
atop her throne made from flattery received
and the vanity youthful beauty brings
embellished with declined engagement rings
Mae, An Heirloom Posing As The Next Big Thing

Bernadette
Bernadette
Feb 7      Feb 8

Few weeks shy
of an anniversary--that makes
two years quarantined

and I am right where I left me.
Darling, bring a glass of water
and in the other hand an epiphany.

I'm in need of a revelation
I step outside and the answers
are not manifesting as they used to,

the clouds refuse to whisper,
the birds evading eye contact,
how many tree barks I knocked upon and received

no reply, nothing at all.
I scroll through card catalogs of motivation
and my heart uninspired

beats mechanically, its
chambers leaking leftover steam
while cancer continues stringing beads around my neck.

Two years back,
it took daggers to stop me from finding
something beautiful

Now I sit more obligingly
With both hands cupped over my eyes,
I wait in their shadow.

Bernadette
Bernadette
Oct 23, 2013

There goes Josephine again,
she lost her head
sitting opposite to me
she toys with the straw wrapper
and sips a diet Cola

she sighs, "Whatever should I do? My Napoleon doesn't love me anymore."

So I dish the half-assed advice that I'm supposed to-
I'm sorry, she's sorry, he's sorry, everybody's sorry
while Napoleon right on queue, laughs, tells the blonde
to shake her tits and the brunette to shake her ass.
On Wednesdays he's staring through his peep hole,
and the realists will tell you he's there to blow his
load and the artists will tell you he's just dying to
catch a glimpse of something beautiful. But to Josephine it's all the same.

"My Napoleon doesn't love me."
So they enlightened her with 20mg a day
now she's on a soapbox made of medicated clarity,
"The world doesn't stop for your grief."

Don't bother me Josephine, everything is fine.
I couldn't taste that lie or the last, my tongue
is coated by the cohort of its predecessors that
have slipped past my lips. And it's amazing
how much I can forget once a hand caresses
my breast.

Josephine, what should I do if
lately, even my conscience is abating
and I don't really mind?

 
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