The Poetry Marathon

Sometimes I go sunny yellow
Taxi cab yellow
Hey, you Talkin to me?
Yellow
On my nails.

Click click click
I rarely feel sunny.
I’m more a mauve half dried
Half rotting petal
On the rose kind of girl.
Or blue dripping into black
Dragging me along
Without any marks of resistance.

But don’t you ever just want to feel it?
Sunny?
I do.
I blast across my nails hoping it can hitch a ride
Up my veins, arteries
Pump to the heart and get pushed
Everywhere.

Probably looks odd
Yellow nails screaming
But dead eyes
Splotchy gaze
Unfocused pupils.

The lips try their part
Royal purple mats
Red slippery glosses
But alas.
Nails, lips, fuzzy shoes
All the things screaming FUN!

Nothing can cover over glazed eyes.
Excitement from within.
She wants a hit
For now she costumes up
Trying to take it til she makes it.
Then her nails can finally go bare

Motherhood began in an ER in Florida
I took a day to trek from the keys up to Miami
My reward
Was two flashing hearts.

That wasn’t the beginning.
Confirmation.
It was the confirmation.
The belly jabs
Vaginal ultrasounds
Like robot sex with witnesses
That had worked.
Ta-da!

In a terse email, my husband declared
Get an abortion.

Yeah, we made these kids on purpose.
I wanted kids
He wanted a green card
And a future with his girlfriend back in Russia.

I was only 8 weeks pregnant.
Before the scan I was pretty sure
Smell of celery?
Gag.
Taste of celery?
Just kidding.

Sore nipples. Bed at 7 pm.
Clearly divorcing.
He had hit me
So that was for the best.
Right?
Yes
Right
Yes
Breathe…………

But how do you raise twins?
Alone?
At all?
Jobless?
Homeless?

I still can’t say how.
No bestseller
No secret advice
You just do
And you keep doing
And one day
You just know
Not how,
But at least that you can.

Little feet, six if them
Paddling along.
Six little eyes gazing
Anywhere but ahead
Inevitable clunks.

They meander
And swander off
Swimming in zigzags of flowy lines.

But the second mom turns
Unison.
Conformity. One solid vision of toddlerhood
Swarming and screeching
“Mama, mama”
Like 3 or 4 feet of separation will sever their weak fishing line connections.

Mostly their perifery never lets her escape
But occasionally a duckling
Stumbles ahead.
What! The outrage! An injustice only a triplet can understand.

In the focus and furor over each other they forget, however brief.
They forget mom.
Tussling, pushing, running on.

“Little ducklings!
Come little ducks.”

Mother!
Was that mother?
They turn, adjust
Recalibrations complete, they swarm.

Somehow in a few feet they transform.
Ducks no more.
No.
Wolves. A pack fighting for dominance
And the prize of mom’s attention.

Mom dodges and slips and evades
Seeking breath.
She slowly walks on.

“Come little ducklings”

They fall back in place
Ducks til the next rumble
For now mom swims
In the calm.

It starts as a smile
Progresses to a full face explosion
Running jumping and chasing.
Then the slip.

Was that a snort?
My eyes crinkle up
The corners of my mouth tickle.
Burn.
It is a full blown fire in my chest.
Oh god.
It’s going to burst.
It rolling rumbling past my larnyx.

Don’t snort.
Ugh. Don’t snort!
Water is streaming
Black streaks down my face
Monuments to my mascara mistake.

Snort.

My face hurts.
I try to pull oxygen past my closed off breathing tube.
Is this how I die?

Snort.

“What’s so funny?”

Huh.
Wait a second.
I can’t remember.
Well isn’t that just hysterical?

Snort.

Trage
It’s my term
For a text dump
A text fury.

That asshole said that thing
Again
You know, THE thing
In real life you would walk off
People staring
They might film
Who knows!

But damn.
They send it in writing?
Game on.
I am usually a sip my coffee
Walk round the block
Take 5 before sending that email
Mammal.

That text extends a finger
Gently tickling my ear.
Come on girl.
You can just rage it all out and shut the phone off!
You don’t even have the ‘come back’ ‘reply’
Blah blah
Bullshit repeat.

Trage is a release
Consequences ignored for til a more convenient time.
When they will say that same thing again.
THE thing
Game on.

It’s daily
The teeth
Fingers
Sand rakes?
We have sand rakes?

Stretching til a break
Gnawing like a beaver
Clawing like those buried alive seeking air.

Big teeth
Small hands
Is that 30 fingers?
30?
How?

Grabbing
Pulling
Scratching

My scalp is a burning patch.
No clear torch
But sparks everywhere.

Enough!

I put it in a ponytail.
Nope.
That just gives mom a handle.
Braid.
All the same.
Bun. Classic ballet bun.
Yeah.
No.
Nope.
They are tearing it down.

Arghhhh!

I’d shave it, but that is punishing me too.
I’d cut it in a pixie do.
But mom forced me into those my whole childhood.
The mere thought makes me want to vomit.

For now I stick to the dodge.
Swooshing like a ninja

You can’t flee faster than your legs run
Ain’t no magic overcome the laws of science.

Still, Tuesday afternoon I put on a dress
Orange, with a fitted waist and a flowing skirt
Black runners, red logo laced up, out of place.

I can only run a few miles, huffing puffin mess
But I could gain more ground underground.

Subway take to as far as the Bronx.
Damn that ain’t far enough.

Metro North carry we on like a bird
You can’t flee faster than your legs run

I can only run a few miles, huffing puffin mess.
Problem: I don’t any bucks, less than my stamina.
Hitchhike and risk a ditch burial

Run on, run down, run around
I keep running, my feet no longer touch ground.

She’s a speck
A breezy little bit
Hummin along.
Like an octopus fighting the ocean.

She has no problem standin tall
Waves crashing
Water slipping between boogie board and feet
The sea is trying to push her aside
None of that for speck.

She’s straight, like a strong stem
But she still has bend
Flex
Flow if needed
Others are stuck straight
Bone wall straight
Nerves putting in a rigid fix from toe to head

Their gonna topple too.
How’s that little bit brave enough to face a whole ocean?
I’m barely strong enough to brave the blank page.

He knows his harness.
It means walk.
He loves out
Puddles to get yanked from
Trash to hunt and devour
Til it gets ripped away
Mid chomp
Not fair.

The breeze fluffs some fluff.
A roll in the grass
Embeds dirt deep down
To deep for the comb

He pulls at that leash so hard
He is like a sled dog trying to win the Iditarod.

Indeed.

But seeing that harness he flies past
Her fingertips barely grazing
Course hairs
And a nub
If she turns to corner him
He sits on edge
Waiting to bolt like a cornered mouse
About to be the cat’s lunch

If she ignores him he comes
Nips the back of an arm
Runs off.

What is wrong with this dog?

As a walk wears on he lags
His rocket boosters puttering.
Now he’s just laying there
Won’t budge.
From Usian Bolt to a lump.

She gives him a look.
That corgi has better get his waddle on.
She already chased him round
And got drug like trash hanging off the truck
She isn’t carrying his Majesty too.

His royal corginess catches the breeze
Her sighs are blowing

Waddle
Waddle
Slower and slower
Waddle
Waddle
All the way home.

In a 90 degree sun speeches day
1000 in subway degrees
Sweat beads
On your back

You ponder.
Do backs sweat?
Clearly

Makeup melts to a tan drip,
Now the perfect slip for a pottery piece.
You can fire that sucker right in the subway.