Godless Mornings
Trickle down my *******...
The empty thoughts shrivel
Into a pulsating pyramid,
Blushing with ribbons of grief.
Dreams that others hear,
             And I cannot see,
Spiral down towards
Shards of glass and the souls of feathers.
Bring me some thoughts
When you come back~
Thoughts of teepees
And of rain.
Bring me a cloud
To hold my tears
And place it on my wrist.
Do you not hear?
I'm asking to let go of this balloon.
Red...follows me.
Please leave--I want to see pinks.
Heavy laughter, dark and foreboding...
That doesn't sound pink.
I'm afraid in the dark...
My coiled dreams will send me to
Laughing Clowns,
Painted Smiles, and Crazed Eyes.
Move...just one finger...
The unknown entity of possession...
Breathe...Breathe...
Bushes in the background
And I pick Lollipops that are
Not Quite Ripe.
The roots are singing "Danny Boy"
And when they get to the
Snow-hushed valleys,
I am asleep
Entwined in their tentacles.
Angel's fish come to wake me...
Don't ask me how
Who's Angel?
I fly through the vents
Into your Room...
And there I shall ever Be,
A placenta protecting my Smile
The Terrible Twos never stop
What is that sound?
Wake up, Love.
I'd rather not--
It looks to be another
Godless Morning.

~christa elise cannon p------.

I do not want to be Sylvia Plath anymore.
Her skin cannot fertilize my daises in the oven
or make rosemary’s taste improve
because she has it swaddled in a grave –
the rest has wilted. She has burned and died.

I do not want to be Sylvia Plath anymore
though her words were eloquent
and her waist was very thin. Those insides were
polluted as soon as Hughes discovered them.

Does anyone personify depression?
I would, I think, if I let myself be her again.

Her pretty limbs dangling beyond her head, the
torso conjoined with crimson bars
once metal or iron, once acquainted to
little pollen flakes she swallowed I am sure.
Is anything as pure as a woman above the floor?

I do not want to be Sylvia Plath anymore
but I am sure she is still pure, too.
I bet flowers grow through her throat and exist
in the young body she so hotly removed.

Little beads, baby blooms, figs
writing poems from a nucleus’ dull flicker –
thyme ablaze in patterns of words she has said.  

I once wanted to be Sylvia,
because most of the time I want to be dead.

Timothy Yan, that was his name
I miss him, still, 71 years later
I don't know if he's alive now
Nor, really did I know then in 1942
We were kids, he was 11 and now
would be 82 or 83
I don't know if he'd remember me
But, I remember him
and will forever
He was Canadian
He was my best friend
His family was Japanese
We'd come from Ontario, Burlington
Work brought dad west
So, we settled in a suburb of Vancouver
Tim's family had been here for a few years
There weren't a lot of Japanese in Canada
He was the first one I saw
We didn't have any in Burlington
So as I know
We lived on the same street
Went to the same school
He was Canadian
We played baseball, road hockey
football, we were brothers
blood brothers, we were a team
We moved west in 1938
I met him that fall in school
We were instant friends
The day I saw that St. Louis Cardinal hat
stuck in his pocket, all rolled up
He'd be Stan The Man, I'd be Red Russer
He was Syl Apps, I was Sam LoPresti
I was Turk Broda, he was anyone he wanted to be
We were both Joe Di Maggio
We were brothers
I remember the noise first
Great big Army trucks,
Olive green
All up the street
Not just at the Yan place
The Yokishuris, Wans, and Timmy's Aunt too
Soldiers, loading the trucks
We weren't allowed out to see
Notices had been posted though the door
We could only watch and wonder
They were being moved
They scared the powers that be
Little Japanese families
Many born here
Scared the powers of  King in Ottawa
And they had to be moved
Inland, to the Okanagan Valley
To Camps, in Canada, their country, Camps
Canada was at war
With it's own people
With 11 year old Timothy Yan
Ever since Pearl Harbour
Ottawa got scared
Japanese fishermen in the west
Japanese fighter planes from the east
There had to be spies in British Columbia
Tim Yan was apparently one of them
They were told their property was safe
All their goods in storage
They were lied to
A month after they left
The auctioneers came in
Everything was sold
Everything...
I hope he kept that hat
Dad bought what he could
So did other neighbours
I still have the boxes
Never opened
Waiting for the Yans,
I miss Joe DiMaggio
I didn't understand it then
And I don't now
My teachers couldn't explain it
My minister said it was the best
That didn' t help either
What best?
Who decided what was best?
Best for who?
It wasn't best for me, or Tim
Nobody asked us
He was just gone
I spent years looking for him
He never came back after the war
They were moved further east
They were sent to Japan
He was from Canada
Why would they send him to Japan
He was gonna be the first Japanese big leaguer
I hope he made it
I grew up and became a lawyer
A citizenship lawyer
This was not going to happen on my watch
To anyone again
Not while I was around
I miss him
He went to war
And never fired a shot
He went to war
And never knew why...

I remember when you took me
corkscrewing down kaleidoscope tunnels for the last time
mounting hummingbirds to fly through the crystallized sky
air splashing against our skin
like an intoxicating perfume, dizzying
old daydreams, new friends like
humans with spectrum eyes and hair that coiled around their shoulders like serpents, all donning galaxy cloaks
reptilian monsters that sprouted raven feathers while chasing each other through smoke trees
silhouettes with rusty-nail teeth who danced like leaves in a gale
inky, spindly limbs reaching
trying to catch the moon
fingers entangled like a dreamcatcher

We were more then the kings and queens, heroes, idols
We were gods,
ruling from the velvet mountains to the silken seas,
everything beneath the candlesmoke clouds and the caramel sun that drips like wax

everything shining beneath the stars
made out of that smoldering purple dust we know so well
always whispering to us in scritch-scratch voices
reciting elegies and hush-hush songs of longing

but then,
reality ignites and burns beneath us as we soar,
elysian fields crumbling,
flames consuming the wonderland we’ve built
that is nothing but a paper thin house of tarot cards
the future written with seeping poison ink
We are left keening in the ashes,
tears to late to douse the inferno

but maybe
they will help some seedling fester beneath the scorched earth

Why do people die?
Why do I get cold?
What makes air air?
Why do we get old?
My child asks these questions
And I don't want to look dumb
So, being a good father
I say..."Go and ask your mom"

How many is infinity?
How can birds fly?
Where do babies come from?
Why do people lie?
Sometimes I can tell them things
That I know they might believe
I don't do it all the time though
I just do it so they'll leave

Questions from the children
Make me seem quite dumb
I always tell them half truths
Then I send them to their mom
She tells them she's busy
And they come back to see me
I guess we'll learn together
I hope they can teach me

Why are clouds so puffy?
Why is water wet?
What's a kit and caboodle?
How do you place a bet?
I love it when they ask me
It shows they want to know
Exactly why things happen
And what makes most things go

What is the moon made of?
Is it really cheese?
I get questions like this daily
Why do people sneeze?
There's one that I can't answer
My daughter wants to know
When I make my morning toast
Where does my bread slice go?

Questions from the children
Make me seem quite dumb
I always tell them half truths
Then I send them to their mom
She tells them she's busy
And they come back to see me
I guess we'll learn together
I hope they can teach me

One of these nights...

I will race through broken homes
and closed doors.
I will feel the driving rain
against cold momentum.
I will reach out into the darkness
and know that your hand
will meet my hand.

I will feel around in dust bins
and old insecurities.
I will climb over mountains
of stone and of doubt.
I will believe you when you tell me.
I will try to.
I swear I will.

One of these nights...

I will watch the tail lights fade
into memories we make.
I will force away the guilt
I will...

...One of these nights.