Poem #7

Social Anxiety

--Oh, your hair is so long!

Yeah...?

--I'm so jealous. My hair doesn't grow like that!

You are joking... right? I can't tell.

--I had hair like that when I was fourteen (sigh).

You, who enjoy meeting new people

and can finish a conversation without feeling emotionally exhausted.

--I tried making my daughter keep her hair, but she chopped it all off!

You, a black-belt-red-stripe in the art of small talk

a human who puts other humans at ease.

--My hair is just so thin, it doesn't get that long!

You, the sort who revels in social gatherings

instead of please can we just go home I don't want to be here at all.

--Doesn't all that hair get in your way? It isn't very safe.

You, the kind who goes to interviews and dates excited and hopeful

not the person who sweats the whole time and throws up afterwards.

--You would look so nice if you just put your hair up.

You, who enjoy eating in public with others looking at you

instead of going scarfing down food in the privacy of your car.

--There are people who need hair, you know. You should donate that.

You: confident, self-reliant, secure, bold, upbeat

How can it be

you envy filaments of spent, lifeless cells

clinging limply to my scalp?

New video! https://youtu.be/ma87c5bQ2Zk
 Thanks for reading.

Poem #6 (Driving Haiku)

loneliness is when

volkswagen! but you don't have

anyone to slug.

komenosai, sirs.

this one can't drive very well

so komenosai.

oh, please don't pass me

we'll get there at the same time

passing is pointless.

Look, I made a video! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SuUOaFAwpTU

Poem #5

Urgent Care Summer

I'm at a fair

watching hog wrestling with family

ketchup and mustard in my hair

and on my jeans -

Noah smeared it there

and I'm thinking he's such a brat

when my grandpa gets a call from my dad, who said

I need to get home stat

my little brother had been burned

and had been flown to Portland, and that

he wasn't sure how long

we would need to stay at the McDonald House -

how many months we'd be gone.

We drove all night to the burn center

Justin was fourteen and not very strong.

When we got there he was covered in gauze,

blisters and ooze and greasy tears

Doctors had shoved a feeding tube up his nose.

In the next few weeks he endured great pain

just watched him stay alive inspired applause.

At one point when they put him under

to scrape off his dead gray skin

he woke up during the procedure and wondered

why he could hear and feel but not see or move.

He was allergic to the sedative – it was a frightening blunder.

Slowly, Justin recovered

he plagued the poor psychologist lady

because he hated the way she hovered.

The doctors gave him milkshakes and grafts

people sent so many cards he nearly smothered.

While he healed, our family picked peaches,

caught up with relatives,

enjoyed Seaside's beaches.

Justin's grafts healed well -

the doctors didn't have to use leeches.

He's doing much better now

besides some nightmares and PTSD

I'm glad he pulled through, and surprised at how

sometimes we forget he looks unusual at all.

His will to live has left me cowed

Not all the effects were deleterious.

Though he was self-conscious for a while

all those scars just make him look mysterious

and now he tells the story

to anyone who is curious.

Poem #4

Flathead Lake

The sky is azure

The mountains are umber

The water is pickle-juice green

The people in the boat with me are canary gold and candy orange.

We skip across the water so fast it's hard to breathe.

My dad is hurrying because he wants to get back to the boat ramp before dark.

We are in the center of the vast lake when the engine stops abruptly.

Out of gas.

The sky is teal

The mountains are indigo

The water is fuscia and sapphire and arctic blue.

I admire the otherworldly colors as we take turns on the single paddle rowing toward the shore.

My little sister fishes off the back of the boat.

We make it to a beach house after and hour of rowing.

I wait with the boat as my family borrows a jug of gas.

The light and colors fade away as bats swoop very close to my head.

The sky is sable

The mountains are coal-black

The water is obsidian

The light from the flashlight I hold to show the way is harsh white.

Soon the only colors I can see are the lights from the shore

Silver, crimson, and amber

All beckoning us to land

And safety.

Poem #3

a miko (巫女) is a shinto shrine maiden. her jobs include driving out evil spirits, performing sacred dances, preserving life, and bringing happiness to man.

a haori (羽織) is a japanese hip-length kimono jacket. 巫女 羽織 are white and often have red ribbon embroidered around the sleeves.

hakama (袴) are long, skirt-like pants traditionally worn by japanese men and women. 巫女 袴 are red and are held up by a bow.

oni (鬼) are demons from japanese folklore. they come in a wide variety of forms, and many have the ability to shape-shift. 鬼 are genarally hostile to humans.

last night, i was attacked by an 鬼

who was disguised as a little 巫女.

she pulled open her 羽織 to expose

a hollow, yawning mouth where her chest

should have been

jagged, broken ribs for teeth

spittle of blood and gore splattering

onto her 袴, and then

she ate me.