when i was a kid i thought the grateful dead and iron maiden were related, both had skulls and were scary, i never listened to their music for fear, of what, i didn’t exactly know, freshman year touch of grey came out and the seniors were all about it, with their bandanas and tie dye t-shirts, i learned not to be afraid of their music, but i still never listened to the dead, ever, until college rolled around and they became unavoidable, every boarding school wannabe quasi-hippie trustafarian played the dead in their dorm room, and i still mostly hated their music except for eyes of the world, friends tried to get me to attend concerts, but i always politely declined, there were enough burned out patchouli-smelling colby students without spending hours in a parking lot hoping for a “miracle,” so when i graduated i was glad to be rid of jerry and his band, a couple months went by and jerry died, a year later i’m living in california, my cousin is sharing an apartment with a mortician in kentfield (marin county), i’m at their place one day, dude proudly opens a drawer, finger and toenails are inside, those are jerry’s, he beams, i will never understand the obsession.
Month: November 2023
With Aunt Heather
Man Eats Poem
no one talks about the teeth, composite resin fillings, coffee-stained, gaps where words get stuck, flossing only helps so much, everyone thinks about the tongue, taste touching, needs to know everything, sweet, salty, bitter, wet thing in the center of mouth, hero, villain, puts the french in kissing, probes for meaning, even while chewing, the sentences survive, poem likes breaking apart, ephemeral is the point, swallow, digest, forget, oh well.
American Woman In Italy, 1951
you’ve seen the photo, perhaps in an italian restaurant somewhere, the story begins much earlier, ruth orkin, the photographer, at age 17, rode her bicycle from los angeles to new york, this was 1939, before europe was a rubbled graveyard, on the journey she captured images of everything, living passion in wheeled motion, fast-forward, war over, florence, italy, friendship formed with jinx allen, all 6 feet of her, striding through streets, mid-century beauty & grace, like a sandaled beatrice, dante’s imprint ever alive, allen walked by the italian men twice, the 2nd photo is shown above, portrait of harassment, but in every interview allen insisted the whole scene was playful, this image has been interpreted in a sinister way but it was quite the opposite. they were having fun and so was i, her narrative, two independent women making art together, the men? no one remembers their names.
Unearthing Cat Stevens
i listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul, where I’ll end up, well, i think only god really knows, there was a time when everyone knew cat stevens, mellow, introspective, perpetually coming of age, questioning the world, wishing for peace, early 1970’s, before yusaf islam, before the muslim allegations, but time has a way of passing, and he’s back on a snowy boarding school campus in the holdovers film, bleak backdrop, his musical return, forget all the wikipedia details, just take a minute, remember his songs, morning has broken like the first morning, he’s now 75, looks like a new dawn.
How To Be A Good Husband
listen, to every word, change the toilet paper roll, go to the store, don’t ask what she wants for dinner, just make it, get the car washed and vacuum the inside, watch the rom-com movie, don’t invite the old frat guys home, make the dinner reservation, say yes to italy, say no to tv sports, clean the bathrooms, get the car tires changed, only buy jewelry that she has already selected, always share your dessert, never eat garlic in front of her, bring home flowers, always offer to drive, help your children with their homework, take the dogs out at night, rub her feet, say thank you, say i love you, say i understand, ask her if she needs help, listen, to every word.
The End Of November
journey toward winter solstice, lost light, weak orb only wins in the morning, by early afternoon the disappearing begins, darkness, a time to hide, in a book, a bed, by a window looking at snowflakes falling, the white ground rising to meet wind and swaying pine trees, howling silence, nature’s portrait of death, the end of something, and now i understand january 1st, i used to always wonder, why not call september the beginning like in judaism? but i get it, the minutes added each day, climbing back into the sun, waiting for spring to heal the earth, but for now we rest.
Cold Water Swimming & Coyotes
swimming centers me, fallen japanese maple leaves sink in water, nestle between my toes, stick to shoulders, i am a leaf magnet, like the man feeding pigeons in central park, the tree likes me, i think, gifts from above, cold water thoughts, staring at stars, nameless constellations, pump arms and legs harder, keep the heart moving blood to numb fingers, i have a rock on pool’s ledge for coyotes, but i would never throw anything, maybe splash or yell, coyotes won’t visit, worries disappear, this is a good night.
Birthday at Kokkari
Fame Addiction
actors, politicians, craving limelight, accolades, the ones who never got enough as children- love, affection, reassurance, the stage is beset with their desperate desire to be cherished, by strangers, friends, anyone, everyone, and often that void can’t be filled, the sly stallone sadness from an abusive father, demi moore & her alcoholic parents, peripatetic, moving her from place to place, bill clinton with stepdad roger, alcoholism and abuse all around his arkansas childhood, so they grab the mic, stare into cameras, give endless speeches, while the spotlight is on, the past is gone, but darkness always returns, they run, but they can never hide.
Daniel W. Polk 