"Still water runs deep." - Yiddish Proverb*

To sail within a boat
never rocked or tucked within a sea.
Long grass kissing the bow.
Mosquito hum, siren stand-in.

Brother big, brother strong.
I, the groove of big brother's elbow.
Clothes on the line.
Canary yellow, A-line dress.
The spring girls swelling, rippling
from the bashful shore.

Big brother hold me over edge.
My arms, my oars.
Splashing pasture, blades receding.
Adults at birthday parties.

Brother big, brother mast.
Climb.
Not only sail, but zephyr, I.
Snake through Rusty Bike River,
the tributary.
Spill.
Into the wide, into the Harding Family Ocean.

Where dolls, hair frayed and faces smooshed,
lounge half-submerged and mostly forgotten.
Where sea dogs test chain, test spike.
Eye the confident chickens strolling dock.
And then Mother turns on porch lamp,
soft words, ebbing to lighthouse.

Brother big, big brother.
My arms, my arms.

In my graduation t-shirt,
and it fits right,
she finger-and-thumbs
the switch on my desk lamp.
Lights on.
And I'm getting too thin.
It shouldn't fit right.
"No, no. I want it dark," I say.

"Tell me what's off limits."

Her eyes, big and wet with bongwater,
wash over me. I'm pebble. I'm allowed.

"Why?"

"I want to know what's off limits
so I know where to set my goals."

I believe in love, even at first sight.
Just not the eternal kind. And I love
her when she says things like that
because I created her. And when
you create, and the creation reaches
perfection, all you want to do--
destroy. Hammer to head. Crowbar
to Parkinson thighs. What's off limits?
What's off limits? What's off limits?
I can't stop.

Before I respond,
with adolescent delight
she tears me open by the pearl snap.
She lifts her arms up.
Surrender? No. She's a sycamore.
I'm the wind.

Body bare and body scattered,
congregate at the inosculation
of her trunks. She's a sycamore.
I'm the wind.

Wavering.
Leafless.
***-addled.
And the breeze doesn't do it.
And the seasons don't affect it.
Gale force insanity.

I climb her branches.
Beard wet with her.
She wipes her off.

I climb her branches.
I can't stop.

Grows into me.
Trunks entrap.
Elevated, she.
And I, well, I

stumble.

Hit the wall.
Concrete, everything.
I press her against it
so hard, she turns to waste
and passes through.
I press her against it
so hard, I can't stop.

Autumn acorn fingertips,
a river emptying to ocean,
and she asks,"Is this off limits?"
as she turns me sharply
and my back collides with the wall.
"Is this off limits?" she asks as she
pounds her head into mine.
"Is this off limits?" she asks as she
claws my face.
"Is this off limits?" she asks as she
licks to heal.
My will says yes.
My flesh says no.

I can't stop.

The hot dogs blossomed, split in the boiling water.
Plumes of beef stock and corn syrup billowed
toward the surface.
6:00 p.m. and the anchorwoman addressed the living room.
Three dogs for Dad in Dad's recliner, one dog for Mom
in Mom's recliner, one dog extra in case she changed her mind,
and two for me.
Yellow mustard. Relish. A dead ****** in standard definition.
"Did you do something different to these hot dogs?" Dad asked.

"Is it bad?" Mom asked.

"It's just different," he said.

But even that was the same. The same question. Same response.
Every Wednesday from '93-2005.

At 6:15, Dad would go blow his nose in the bathroom.
Put on a pearl snap button-down.
At 6:20, Mom would tell me to put on slacks.
"Good Christian men don't wear shorts to church."
That's right. But I didn't have the heart to remind,
the best of them wore dresses.

Mom would drive. Dad would be in the passenger seat.
He perpetually directed her to stay as far to the right side
of the gravel road as possible.
"One of those baboons will come flying over the hill.
Middle of the road. And if you don't get over,
we'll all die. Or at least a couple of us."

We'd get to church.
And all the old women
with their purple hair and ill-fitting
bracelets of golden-colored metal,
named after precious gemstones (Ruby, Pearl, etc., etc.),
would kiss my cheek.
We'd sit three rows back from the front.
And as the song leader began "Jesus Hold My Hand,"
all I could think about: dead hookers and hot dog juice.

Some people feel like places. And these people are vacations. These places are people. Freckled wall paper. Foyer tunes whispered. They are supermarket candles. Wavering flames by way of unsealed windows. They are blinds, these places. And you see through. And you hope through, these people. Pulling back curtains of brunette hair, applause deserved. Delicate, delicate. The slightest noise could alarm clock and send you back to work. Silent, silent. It's rest. Try hard to relax. She's a mole between *******. She's scar tissue on an ankle. And this place, this place smells of honey; tastes like almond milk. "In a perfect world what would you do tonight?" Sleep in this place. Wake inside this person. Simple. Clean. In a perfect world, morning sewed with lavender clouds, tall grass, and a watercolor sun unseen before. And this place likes eggs over easy. And this person warmly invites like white lenin.

"good luck," they think it means.
brides, grooms, hell, even the kids in the club.
and the notion that the phrase comes with the
shattering of glass under a custom print napkin--
just wrong.
it's important to be mindful of what mazel tov means in
that moment, sure, but it's also
important to be mindful of what mazel tov
means in the everyday. the ritual.
see, mazel tov means "what good fortune."
and I know, I know, sounds pretty
**** close to "good luck."
but think about the glass.
all these tiny pieces to pick up
and you say, "good luck."
have fun picking up the shards.
don't cut your finger.
saying "good luck" in that moment
makes you an ***, but "what good fortune"
sounds like you got something up your sleeve.
and you should. in this life, always. always
a few tricks. you know when I was little,
my mother asked me what I wanted to be
when I grew up and I told her, I said,
"I want to be a magician."
her response, "you can't do both."
she's right. that's no profession for an adult,
but you can be an adult and a
magician on the side, as a hobby,
that's alright.

wait.

what was I talking about?
magicians, magicians, oh. tricks.
how else are you going to get by?
mazel tov is a mind trick.
see, we say "what good fortune"
when the glass breaks to reframe the
situation. what's your reaction
to that sound? your ears perk up--
if ears can actually do that, I don't know--
the hairs on your neck stand up.
I guess they can't really stand in the conventional
sense, but, well, you feel the space of a room.
and after that beautiful sound, and I mean beautiful,
you are forced to take everything else into account.
you don't want anything else to break. what matters most,
you know? that's why we say "what good fortune."
I'm delighted to know something as worthless
as glass has broken. because now I'm more
careful with what's valuable to me. right?
you spill soda on a cloth seat in your new car.
mazel tov.
now you don't have to be paranoid
every time your nephew climbs in with an Icee.
it's material crap. just crap. you're alive.
you've got a car. be thankful for what you have.
reframe, you know?
your girlfriend, your wife leaves you for a
former high school quarterback turned
owner of a lawn service company.
another casualty of the sweaty, lemonade-fueled fantasy.
once again, mazel tov.
you are so lucky you didn't spend the rest
of your life with her. the glass shattered.
it's a beautiful sound.

coupon for Granny's Original 32% All Natural Oatmeal®
cart-to-cart down aisle 48 and this man's an affront to khakis
and this woman's brain runs off a child's complaints
BLIZZARD 2013
according to the radar, buy 80 pounds of rock salt
from The Home Depot®, more saving. more doing.™
more rock salt. more doing
BLIZZARD 2013
according to the radar, buy two-weeks-worth of tuna,
a pallet of Pepsi Max®, and four loaves of Baker Good's NeverMold Bread®
all for $21.99 with your Sam's Club® Rewards Card
BLIZZARD 2013
cart-to-cart down aisle 62 where once there was soda, now an I.O.U.
and I read on the internet that the preservatives in diet cola will keep
my body from decomposing and I read on the internet that these
dented, discount tuna cans will give me botulism
BLIZZARD 2013
one jug of water from a spring in Mountain View, Arkansas
one jug of water from a spring in New Iberia, Louisiana
picking between Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana
the pitter-patter on the warehouse roof reassures
time for eenie meenie miney mo
BLIZZARD 2013
and the intercom desperate for a cart wrangler
customer service now open for checkout
don't leave your toddlers alone in shopping carts
they're choking on free samples
with an echo, raindrops strike parking lot pools
just past the intersection an ambulance grumbles
BLIZZARD 2013
in a room with a view wishing the windowpane weatherized
beers bought by volume, candles forgotten, six months of
licorice, EverFluff® popcorn, and hand warmers of chemical kind
remembered
BLIZZARD 2013
will not be landing in the city, watch out for that rain though
if the temperatures drop below 32 degrees it could ice over
and if the temperatures don't, well, it won't

News 7's coverage of Blizzard 2013 brought to you by
The Home Depot®, more saving. More doing.™
and Sam's Club®, savings made simple.™

spitting merlot felt like wealth
boxed or no
what matter, she thought
as she watched the violet
run the rill of his back
rain on a saturday morning window

kissing teeth felt like youth
awkward sure
but nostalgic, he thought
as he watched her transfigure
17 in striped T in torn denim
Daddy's keys in a low-lit suburb