had a dream of my father last night
sitting across from me in a ferry
going which way, I have no clue
he faced the water, he wouldn’t look at me
he seemed mad at me, like he knew
I wanted to ask him
about the time he wanted to die
but I remained silent
the winds played with his thick mane
the low gray clouds behind him
ushered him back
I woke up sad
may God bless all the delicate
creatures that will hold your hand
in their impossibly strong grips
and shed glimmering tears
as you admit you’re afraid to
take your last breath
place their long sweet-smelling
manes over your eyes
so that your last thoughts
are of beauty before you die
in a place where dogs are barkless
and children lose their screams
prowls a figure, much like those
shadows that play under your bed
he creeps in and around without notice
smells your lipstick and then
slinks back into the dark
the evil ones, especially, love beauty
look at you, think a thought
then look away, but stare again
run fast baby girl, cause
it’s not too far behind you
like all our happy memories
kicking up that dust of the past
making our hearts ache, cause
they just couldn’t last and
my brain is stuck on these sorrows
I’m so fearful they they’ll sojourn
for all my tomorrows
the evil ones just love our beauty
could we persuade it, possibly
so that the good in it would take form
poor little baby, you bit your tongue
chewing on all that hatred.
was it horrible? did it cut your throat
when you swallowed it down?
did it try to climb its way back up, and
make you run to the bathroom to find
an empty stall?
poor little baby, you broke your finger
pointing it and flipping them the bird
that was carrying all that ill will.
did it break free and flee?
perhaps fly away somewhere quiet to
rest on a snow-capped tree or
a glowing, warm palm.
poor little baby, you failed the test.
gave a gorilla a teacup and he crumbled it before
I could reach out, I tried my best not to cry
over that ancient porcelain
I tried again and it happened over and over until
the floor was covered with shards of my past
went to bed perplexed that my praise didn’t
motivate him enough to care to keep them
or at least to want to make me happy
rested my head upon my aged pillow
among the dust, among the plaster
dreamt of gorillas with their array of fractured teacups
and their damned gigantic buckets of laughter
if an angel were with skin, this is the skin she’d be in
and it gladdens my heart that he was there
with his red plaid falling in love with you
when you were tired of running
you thought we’d be abandoned
but, look at us dear, we’re still standing
I admire your spirit, your laughter
your view on this entire situation gone mad
the way you send prayers to stop me feeling sad
so sad, which confirms my thinking
that if an angel were with skin
it’s your skin she’d be in
I felt the friction like a cat’s tongue
hesitating to taste what’s on my finger
cooed sweet baby words in its ear
to get him to linger
drove under the dopey gray clouds
so tired from the day
and told big happy lies to myself
begging the sunshine to stay
the demon he carried was larger than him
he was unaware but I saw it
and I was just a little girl
this man who smelled of cigars and aging skin
barely spoke, but he had all the baby dolls lined up
and I’m sure he touched them all
including me, innocent and small
this man who crept in with the shadows
when he thought I was asleep, didn’t have a clue
I could turn into a statue and not make a peep
this man was naught, this man who was a creep.
The Tape House 