As I sit here, at the dining room table and stare over decaf coffee at the screen on my Mac
my eyes are drawn, once and awhile, to the picture sitting on the buffet in the butler's pantry.
Before we continue you should know that "butler's pantry" in this case
means the "third bedroom" that we saw in the listing on Realtor dot com before we bought the house and that,
in the usual real estate-ese, is an optimistic label at best.

But I was talking about the picture.

The picture sits, slightly askew, in a carved wooden bowl given to us by my wife's boss
as a housewarming present.
It, the bowl I mean,  came with salad tongs or forks,
depending on what it is that you call them,
made of water buffalo horn.
They sit in the bowl too and,
although she'd never admit it,  
I know that the thought of serving salad with water buffalo horn salad forks...
lets just say.....
doesn't appeal to my wife.

Right, the picture....

It sits in on the buffet,
in the carved wooden bowl,
next to another wood bowl.
This one full of carved wood fruits and vegetables,
which evidently, includes sugar cane.
When my wife's dad moved from his house to an assisted living facility
the kids, my wife, her brother and sister, took turns going down to help him move.
My wife was the last and dad insisted that
someone
"had" to take the fruit.

But, the picture....

It, and the wooden bowls full of fruit and unused salad forks,
are surrounded by both faux and real glassware
and placemats
which all sit perched
on the top of the buffet as precariously as refugees
and all of their belongings
on the deck and roof of an overloaded fishing boat
chugging from their homeland
to some place that is hopefully better.

The picture...

It was painted by my father-in-law and,
of all the others we have in the house,
is one of my favorites.
It sits on the buffet, askew in the carved wooden bowl with the horn salad forks,
amid polycarbonate and glass drink ware,
and placemats,
unframed for some reason.
All of his other works came framed
but this is one he did not...
and did I mention that it is one of my favorites?

I like his choices of frames on all of the other pictures we have,
but this is just canvas, stretched over a frame,
sitting in that carved African wooden bowl
with those salad forks made from water buffalo horn
on the buffet next to the other wood bowl full of wooden fruits and vegetables,
and wooden sugar cane,
in the butler's pantry.

"Get seven plates"
"Seven knifes ,spoons and forks"
"And Seven napkins and placemats"

Setting the dinner table was an awful request,
but now I take it as a gift...
For the number of plates are less, and less every time that I'm asked

The glasses aren't being used as much,
It seems like we are using the same three glasses every time
And the drinks In it are all the same
except for the ones that are sitting in the cabinet,
There already filled with the memories that happened at the dinner table,
seven years ago, When I was asked...

"Get seven plates"
"Seven knifes,spoons and forks"
"And Seven napkins and placemats"

classroom setting the table.

down the stairs, where the creak-feet of descent
will silence a cricket in the room; there with couch
and the bookstand, oak and glass....
sedate features; the odd bust of an Inuit matriarch-
staring at your blouse like it were forged
in blasphemies and trade winds.
down there, where we keep the cat riveted to the headlights
of our armored car.

in the seam

the coffee table is strewn, right down the middle
with old magazines and straw placemats.
a stain that never fades,
stands in the garden of cigarette butts and dog-eared -
post-it notes
to a glass scarecrow.
a mound of bric-a-brac
and fingerprints.

it's sticky
where two people
made the love
that made the mess...

but it's hollow where they never met.
and you can see the carpet through the permafrost.
our lens
immune to domain.
free to see the whimsy
in a spot of bother
about a broken
heart.

down where the television skin is the thickest. our ironic muse.
just a spritz of cultured sabotage,
and the good sense to go mad
without disturbing the peace....
the same peace that almost -
cost us the war.

at the very least.

I can't remember what the placemats on my kitchen table used to look like,
Or why you hated the word "cauliflower" so much.
I can't recall the arrangement of your irises,
Or which side of me you thought was brighter.
I don't know what your voice sounded like anymore,
Or why the things I want to care about are the things that everyone else keeps telling me don't matter.
But I won't ever lose the way the pitch of your voice rose when I upset you,
but never the volume,
Like a wave fighting too desperately
Against an all too familiar current.

I think I’m a ticking timebomb, every day that goes by my anger grows and grows, never diffusing.
Theres no one else to be angry at but myself. As weak as an eggshell, breaking at the slightest impact. If i were a color i would be scarlet, filled with rage and a roaring fury that only gets worst when spoken to.
My body is as tight as a coil, springing up in defense at every little thing. impatient and tired of the apparitions that keep moving through the walls of its brain. I want them to leave but i get lonely without them keeping me company.
I ask them to hold my head up, their transparent hands gently cradle me. rocking me into an absent lull. They bring me down but lift me up and i can’t live without their memory, They make me into who i am.
i ask them to hand me the ladder whenever i get stuck at the bottom of the pit. I should’ve learned my lesson, sometimes they pull it up instead of lowering it down. They make me keep grasping for more light.
I ask them to eat dinner with me occasionally, i tell them i want to hear their voices again. i leave out extra placemats for them incase they ever decide to join me. I’m left hoping and staring at empty seats, reminded that they will never come back. They make me stomach food again.
I ask them if it hurt when they left. if they feel my tears whenever i cry. i am met with wide stares and carefree smiles. left to wonder what they found that makes them happy. they make me feel again.
I ask them to love me despite what disasters i make for myself. i don’t have to hear their voices anymore to know that they do.

It’s a bar like this:
Smashed in Bud lite cans, Hennessey bottles half emptied.
Cable TV, static at high volume,
Re-runs of Seinfeld and
Occasionally the game.

Men in sweats, men in tuxes, men in rags,
Men in company jackets.
Bonded and connected by their mutual friend Jack
And their ex-lover Brandy.

It’s a bar like this:
Bartenders sniffing coke, pouring
3 parts orange juice, 1 part *****, 2 parts water.
Posters hanging with ******* girls and
Kate Upton.

Smells of defeat and destruction emanate to the street,
The sign swings crooked, uncared for, untouched.
Broken in windows, lined with blackened wood panels
Creatively decorated with graffiti

Lightbulbs act like lightening bugs,
Never illuminating on command.
Plumbing rattles, toilets overflow,
One woman stands alone.

It’s a bar like this:
Two men swear and hiss,
Breaking a table in two.
Chairs part like the red sea,
Bets are placed.

Occasionally, some stray wanders in,
Testing out the waters,
Coughing up nicotine and tar,
holding his door frame crutch.

Scratchy hand towels and oily soup,
Sink bowls re-rusted.
McDonald’s bags liter the stained tiles,
Enjoying rat company.

It’s a bar like this:
Over enthusiastic boss hiring
Sixteen year olds,
Blondes only,
No criminal record.
Eviction notices used as placemats and
Electric bill coasters.
Been open since 1975 but
Even then
it was a bar like this.

Oh, my love, look what has happened to us
You aren't my love anymore
And I don't know how to be myself
Without you, without our relationship, if that makes sense

I've tried to distract myself
From the void that you left
By filling it with other things
With other people, not permanently
And not always romantically
I just wanted a distraction

When in reality, I just need to let it be there
I need to cry in the shower
I need to scribble all my thoughts
On the corners of diner placemats
And I need to know how it feels
To be all by myself

When I think of you
All I can recollect
Was how I lost my very best friend
The day you walked away

When I let my mind conjure an image of you
I need a hug, I feel an immediate lacking
And your embrace is all that will do
That would be a solace to my soul

You were a cup of coffee on a fall morning
An unexpected turn on a familiar road
You were exactly what I needed

But eventually, the coffee turned sour and cold
And the woods got dark and I got lost
You were what I needed, but not what I need

Oh, my love, you deserve the world
I just have to do right by myself
Because if your world would have continued to be in mine
Neither of us would have been happy
We would have compromised everything we each wanted
Because, wretchedly, we were heading different ways

Why force it when it wasn't supposed to be?

I can never bring myself to forget the way you loved me
You showed me what it meant to feel safe in a relationship
I'm sorry that I became too safe, I took you for granted at times
But at other times, I needed you so desperately, like you were air
And I was suffocating, and I just needed you more the more you gave
I just could never get enough of you, I'm sorry for hurting you

I miss our inside jokes, I think if someone told me that I was a child
Ever again, I would probably start sobbing
I can't ever really look at things the same way I used to

And I keep thinking of cooking with you in your kitchen
On Saturday mornings when we were inseparable
And that other time you sliced your finger while making chicken
And I overreacted because I didn't ever want to see you hurt
Then the way you looked at me like you couldn't have ever cared more
About any other person in the entire world, moves me to tears

But despite all of these memories that surround me, I just want you to know
You are an incredible person and I am happy to have had the pleasure
Of being your best friend for three years
Even though I always didn't do such a great job
Thank you for being mine, for being there, for caring so much

I pray you find a woman who is everything you want and need
Someone who adores your hazel eyes and enveloping deep voice
Your hobbies that you immerse yourself in
The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh
And how you love entirely, with everything you have
Your generosity and kindness
The way you smelled, deep and sweet
I hope she adores you as much as you adore her
You deserve the world

There,
he wonders if there is
too much cream coiling in
tendrils, swirling.
He peels the cup from a large penny-stain
and sups at sweet heat, too sweet,
too sweet.

If only it was of the richest brown!
Bitter and scalding - and it becomes!
Clearer and clearer it becomes
in porcelain mug, creamy.
And the world would be most wonderful, then.
The world would be wonderful
once more, again, the rain would once more dance
again, just as the coffee
must trace young
delicate rings on
placemats and the upper bits
of lips-

but the rain outside is heavy and stale, and the stains
are leaking, leaking pennies
Still, he stares into his coffee
sitting plainly on the table
and thinks.

Dancing with snowflakes
Dancing Feet with the rhythmic winds...
Holiday Seasons...
Sweet love and sugar cookies and cakes.
Memories of a childhood of such moments
caught in my mind's eye like a live newscast
Brings forth future chuckles
as future broadcasts span across the globe
Like a fine wine..
Such gets sweeter when age adds to the formats
to elder's ages
growing in strength and numbers
Here we go...toasts to the cheers
of these sovereign time placemats.

For my love I have a plan
So much to do - oh man
This plan so grand
For so long I have planned -
Now to spill
Oh, what a thrill!

So much to do
And all for you
My love, I don’t mind
But oh time I’m not sure I can find
Ah, oh well!
All shall be swell!
After all, it is for you that I fell.

First I must clean the house;
I must sweep the downstairs,
My anxiety I must dowse
Oh but who cares

I must sweep the porch and walkway,
Tell him, “Come, go this way!”
No dust at his feet
Take him inside and from the heat

I must clean the table,
Oh I hope I am able
Make sure on my feet I’m not unstable
Oh my dizzy spells
Are tiny hells

I must clean the placemats,
Shoo away the pesky cats
Little things get their fur everywhere
Oh but who gives a care

I must clear the clutter from the piano,
Think of my friend the soprano
She’s a good singer
But slow to answer her ringer

Then I must decorate;
Oh this house no one shall hate
Besides I, I suppose
Oh, I think I’ll give him a rose!

I must put the carpetes on the piano,
Nevermind the soprano
What a voice
On the carpetes I can put flowers or candles
With no handles
Oh what a choice!

I must place the smooth stones and flowers in the walkway,
Make them say, “Hey, come this way!”
Inviting him in
Oh, his heart I did win
This is a celebration of my love
Just for my Love

I must place the stool by the door,
Place his card on it and oh not the floor
Hope he likes it and keeps it
Hope he knows I am of wit

I must put the ribbon downstairs,
I don’t know if he cares
But I certainly do
Oh Love, I do this all for you

Next I must cook and bake;
I must make the steak,
Get the recipe from my stepdad
Oh I sure hope he’s glad
I can make this myself
And have a picture on the shelf

I must make the mashed potatoes,
No, I won’t touch the tomatoes
Those are for next week
Not my dinner to cook
I’m not that weak
I can be a good cook

I must bake the brownies,
They say you can smell them for counties
I hope they taste sweet
And not like feet

Finally I must get myself ready;
I must shower, clean my hair and body,
So I’m not still plastered with sweat
Oh and I bet
You’ll just look so good
Just like I know you would

I must wear something nice,
No, it will not be of high price
If it were I would leave it hanging
Like the photographs overhanging
In my room
Where roses bloom

I must do something with my hair,
Not that anyone would care
None but I
Still I try

I must put my lotion on,
This cracked flesh it must go upon
To heal me
Of this eczema I wish to be free

After all that;
I will give my arm a pat
An indication for him to take it
This great planning a display of my wit
I shall walk him to the door
Read him the card then read no more

Escort him inside
The dogs both aside
Have him pick a seat
While ready is the potatoes and tender meat
To be served
I supposed I would be observed
As I bring him a plate
Oh this is so great!

Ask him if he would like a drink
Once poured, our glasses will clink
A sign of good fortune and luck
And as I gaze into those eyes, I am lovestruck

We shall dine
Oh this heart of mine
Beating loudly in its cage
As tonight I have taken center stage
And brought all the light just for my Love

After we dine,
After I gaze into those eyes divine,
I bring out dessert
It won’t be too hot, so it won’t hurt

Once dessert is through
I’ll look to you
And ask what you would like to do

A movie, perhaps?
Seated side by side, a blanket on our laps
My hand in yours
Holding me, this ensures
My mind may wander
Oh the things that silently ponder
Whilst I am by your side.

- Jay M
January 30th, 2020

You set your love on a conveyer belt
recycled sheets of metal become placemats
For a consistent stream of tender moments
And I'm still getting used
to the new system

Much more often than not
My deadbeat heart binges and purges
on your fragrant stares;
so full of a flavor
I have never been described as before
I haven't always known this
It is new and familiar
It reminds me i have a spine
It turns your eyes into mountains
That I don't yet have the equipment to climb

But you hold my hair back
On the nights I can't choke down
the thought of being enough
You carefully make a plate for me
when I am ready to accept it
A rightfully seasoned dose of reality
A quiet whisper that most people
need a ghost writer for

I can only take so much, though
before my stomach
twirls around jungle gyms
I like to run from you on grass
or in convenience stores
I guess that's what I retained from recess
When you catch me,
I am still half deciding
how far my feet can carry me away
When your hands are warm, safe-haven
blankets draped over my waist

Do you ever get tired
of tugging on my dress?
Of kissing awake my tired eyes
I know
Sometimes they don't open
until dawn becomes midnight
Sometimes the tiles on the floor
are the most inviting thing in the room
if I don't count them soon enough
I'm afraid Ill lose track of my breath
Maybe of you

I'm sorry that I'm sorry
my past has taught me
to hand you apologies
as a sugary chaser
to follow anything bitterly genuine
When I feel my soul bubbling up
to the top of my throat
I will choke it down
so I don't let you drown in it

But it isn't until I rip my Velcro-chest
off of the kitchen floor
Let you hold my clenching jaw
That I realize that maybe
you'd like to test the waters
You give me a goofy grin
Your lips part and spell out

"Maybe it wouldn't be bad,
You could cover my ears
with your oceans smooth humming
Fill my organs with helium
and let me wander around
with your breath inside of me

Let me see
what you see
I don't care if it's scary
I'd stay in your haunted house
for a week if it meant
I could sleep with you  
on an air mattress
I will open the windows
Sweep the floor of your trauma

I will love you
if you let me
Let me show you
I have learned to love you
Already
Let me
Let me
Let me"

And I strap back up my vest
Leaving one more latch undone
Than we began with  
To tell you
"I love you
while i continue to try"

Move slow and you can hear my bones creak
I am that old wooden rocking chair in your grandparents home that you used to go to every Sunday,

And every Sunday you used to set the table even though you never liked it much,
Five fragile dinner plates in your tiny palms spread across the placemats
Soon five turned to four and Sunday dinners were more quiet,
If you moved slowly enough you could hear your bones creak
When we didn’t talk you could hear the clock tick
The grandfather clock stopped ticking awhile ago but it’s a decoration now
You grew sad when you would count the plates and your thumb would slip down to the fifth one and slowly back up to the fourth,

Two chairs sat in the living room
only one being used,

The rest of us sat on the off white couch with flowers that had been sewn in, and the rough beige blanket that was laid across the top of the couch would scratch our necks if we laid back all the way,

That old wooden rocking chair pressing into the carpet imprinting it’s legs there forever, no one sits there anymore.

Four turned to three and quickly to two,
Two passed on and the other was removed

Four years go by and the house was sold, but the memories will never vanish

there was a bathtub of fantasies, assumptions and intuitions, a kitchen table you might want to give a good scrubbing before setting down placemats, if-onlys, and always alone when the pup wakes me up

The phantasmal words never spoken,
for the table is empty,
the chairs never bare,
The house is hollow

I will miss the conversation
flowing smooth and easy
like blue notes through
the scratched brass trumpet
that birthed the cool


- Original content by Divine
Additional content assembled from works by Cee Williams and Mark Fleming

It is blanket
I wrap around myself
sometimes
when I can't sleep.

2. It is a series of places

3. An alley near the canal (rain)

4. Amsterdam by the station (rain)

5. Your parents' house

6. Your shoes near the door

7. Your mother's cigarettes

8. Your sweater she hung
near the window to dry.

9. Faded plastic placemats

10. The intimacy of knowing you that way.

11. Germany, in the corner by the bar

12.  The streetlights outside (snow)

13. Places where we kissed the first and last time.

14. Love that came stillborn.

15. A series of distances.

16. It is seeing you in the train station

17. It is your smile - all gums and teeth

18. Touching your arm, hugging you
hellos and goodbyes.

19. The backs of our hands touching
during networking drinks
surrounded by professionals and strangers.

20. It is knowing you've seen me
barebreasted and younger.

21. It is remembering that fact
surrounded by professionals and strangers
during networking drinks

22. It is in the passenger seat of your new car

21. Sitting outside the train station
the day you drove it off the lot

22. Taking the long roads
to your village (familiar to you)

23. showing them to me.

24. It is telling you I still love you
after the networking drinks
in the alley by the canal.

25. It is not knowing why I still
love you.

26. It is a stillborn thing
I still pump the heart of.

26. Blue faced, hands shaking
you stuttering.

27. It is goodbye, take care,
see you when I see you.

28. It is agreeing to marry
someone else.

29. I love him too.

30. It is realising love is
not one cup from
which you drink.

31. It is a deep reservoir from which
you can ladle servings, you can float
below the surface
you can drown.

31.  It is a reservoir inside
myself.

32. Love can be collected
like rainwater.

33. Channels running deep
deep below the ground.

34. It is crossing metaphors

36. It is finding reasons
and coping mechanisms

37. It is taking an anti-depressant
pill with my anti-conception pill
every night.

38. It is being truly happy and grateful
and then not.

39. It is talking and talking and talking

40. To my mother, to my sisters,
to my partner (the worst part of all.)

41.It is sending an email that says
I hope you're well

42. I hope it's okay I write.

43. Where are you living now?

44. I hope your happy.

45. I'm going to get married.

46. Say hello to your family for me.

47. It is signing off with nothing
but my name.

48. Old love goes loudly
banging around the space between lines.

49. Old love becomes a part of the fabric
of everything. Sewn into your seams

50. Who are you now?
It is who we have become.

Hello
PeOple of the once
EThereal metamoRph
Your moment has now
arrived; PERiwinkle
adornments on your
china on display,
SPecific to table placements
ICarian silhouettes on
placemats, UnIcorn-lined
doilies in conTrast Yell
out: 'perspicacity.'
Your aid and companionability
see us through it all.

Daoist hermits in the mountains
Red Pine's conversations
General Shang meets Dr. Banks
Language education

I eat Hunan vegetable
Won ton soup and rice
Dragons on my placemats
Dragons. Very nice.

I'm lonely without a woman
Lonely as the rain
Time tick tocks
German bullet train

Jeremy in Hong Kong
I visited years ago
Kamakura Buddha
Sitting in the snow

        Yoko yo yo!