24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Speak to me
in a way I can feel
so I can know
what you say is real.
Look at me
in a way I can hear
all of your secrets
all of your fears.
Touch me
in a way I can see
where you’re stuck
and where you’re free.
Walk with me
in a way I can sense
who you are to me
and why you were sent.
I wanna go to a place where the wind slightly blows.
It is not too hot and not too cold.
You can see different views from the small to the big.
If I had to place it, it would have creatures like no other.
A creative fantasy; where the past, present, and future animals come together.
Where mermaids sing and unicorns prance.
The place would be perfect even without the fantastical.
I know of the place
grasp the times
but not
the
places
little of
their times
Russian Jews
my grandparents came
to America as
part of the diaspora
From where, precisely
remains unknown to me
‘country of origin’
Russia –
imprecise vastness
the only clue on
grandfather’s
immigration papers
grandmother’s only
identifier
scrawled in midwife hand
on my father’s
birth certificate as
‘Austro-Hungarian’
as vague a delineation as
‘over there’
Both of them died
just before
I was born
neither met my mother
per same timing
my grandparents,
my father
his lone brother
not at all close
dad, forever
tightlipped about
family
my only cousins
incommunicado
I know of the time in
which
grandma and grandpa –
Grandmother, Grandfather?
Papa and Nana?
Zyde and Bubbe?
Which would they
have preferred?
I can surmise only that
they lived all
the harshness
that was being a Jew
had to offer
there, then
Time and place
obliquely sort of specific
Roiled by revolution
and hatred
the region dislodged its
Ashkenazim
to many places
My grandparents to
New York, then
Minnesota
Chicago
back to St. Paul
finally back to Brooklyn
All the while they toted
their
mystery, misery in lost
steamer trunks
and secrets
At least I think they did.
What they did as new
Jews in America is
unknown to me
where they did it, I know
how, why – pertinent
details
what the times were
lost to me
lost to time
City directory entries
easy mouse clicks away
other answers…?
Where they
came from what
they left
I can only speculate
anecdotal stories repeated
by other immigrants
preserved in
various forms, places
I can find.
The essentials on
Morris and Fannie
ethereal questions in
search of solid evidence
Being Jewish
I am learning while also
longing
to return to
places I have
never known to try
and understand
what I have lost
having never had it at all
seems selfish
yet nags at me
persistent in its guise of
closure
I know will only lead to
more openings
Like Dorothy in immigrant
American Oz
I feel there truly is
no place like home but
without even knowing
where home
may truly be
I am at the mercy
of a place I can’t even
find on a map
yet that is very much alive
crystal clear and calling
in the
deeper reaches of
my soul.
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2020
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
through see-through sleeves
her mothers fist stained skin shows purple
in her mind she is swimming through
radio static very much like rays dissolved
glass everywhere and the ceiling she thinks of
a round window there & little flowers that rust
the very bad man has not yet become spiritual ash
though he died just after she spoke forgiven
into his body’s ear his body which she no longer belongs to
she tries to smooth the family over
for years she buttons up her mother & it rains as if nothing
has happened—some kind of howl
she confesses it all to gods waist
HONOR
_______________________________
My mother is earth
Her mother before her stone
I, I am clay
The inheritance of determination
And lifetimes of unshed tears
Each generation softened
To mutable ground
That grows wild with flowers
Demands no sacrifice
but the pangs of becoming
I will take many forms
A filter without shape
A vessel to contain
A wall vitrified by fire
A fractured storm of shards
A gathering softness in river bends
I honor the Terra that bore me
By evolving
Right now
it’s low days
quiet that quakes deep
the wanting felt all over
a body hurt a body whole
the intricacy of circuits,
pathways carved out
where all this stays.
Right now
the minutes stretch
though the day has gone quick—
it slows up
marking a box on a grid
until they are all blue exes.
Right now is here
this unsettled feathered
notion sitting at the bottom
an unstable foundation
about to crumble
crash down.
And then
there has to be
something
beyond right here right now.
Otherwise there’s no point in
sunrise, summer storms, or
stars; no reason for pink sand,
high wires, or windmills;
no value in all the years
all the subtle glances all
the all in all overwhelming
wonder this expanding universe
has to offer in a tiny locket
hanging from a thin silver string.
I close the clasp at the nape of my neck
clutch the charm to my chest
brushing aside any semblance of hope—
an unwarranted expectation for
unpredictable desire— and instead
fall into the complete confidence of faith,
knowing this now is different from the last
and will keep renewing
into a life worth living over and over again.
on television
a favourite series
with him and her
playing the parents
I wish were mine
from the river
ducks follow me home
their mother
scavenging elsewhere
… do I look like her?
we tell them
to put their masks on,
to no avail,
why aren’t we mean enough
to wish them ill
no longer wishing
to go back to work
this is me
carrying my burn-out
like a briefcase
Looking at myself
Reflecting checking thinking back
To who I really am
Who am I
Really
This is me
Life was hard
Life is hard
Took it to difficult
Looking for a way out
Going for freedom
Fell for Love
What a trap
Or was it
Felt stuck
Wiggling myself free
Bam!!!
What is this
Should have known it was to good to be true
Why I have to take care of the baby
Where you going
This isn’t fair
stuck in this hole
Looking for a way out
Look baby
It is just you and me
Now what
This isn’t how i planned it
The plan is in disarray
Looking for a way out
Was the plan dismantled
Have been move to build a better life
Have changed me
Have now faith
Better reason to fight for my life
His life
Now
Looking for a way out
From my mouth, to my ear, to my brain,
such unbearable, excruciating, pulsating pain.
A cavity, it’s all about,
your wisdom, said the dentist, we must pull out.
I am a strong man, if you are not aware,
but dentists, they scare me, I do declare!
The needles and drills on the side, looks intimidating,
enough to almost send me in a frenzy of fainting
“Open your mouth wide, you’ll just feel a prick”
“Oh my word, the needle is the size of an ice-pick!”
My mouth goes numb as I clutched my wife’s hand in a vice grip of panic.
This scary dentist makes me sick, sick, sick.
With a heave and a pull and a crack and a blood curdling cry,
My wisdom is out, the experience, almost enough to make me die.
“Spit in this bowl, if you have any dribble”
“Unge! Unge! Unge! ” is all my numb mouth can mumble.
I am now less of a whizz and more dumb!
Bereft am I of any wisdom!
Wisdom-less!
A slain creature, a blade of mean
material driven through an unfeeling heart,
a monument to the macabre and the maleficent.
A dwelling of demonic incubus, that which
torments the fantasy of innocent youth,
and where ‘ ’tis forever brillig’.
An abode where another, a frumpy and ruinous
monster still resides.
The one that was ignored and a volucrine mate.
Venture with caution if you will,
it is nonsense only if one does not respect
the depths and depravity a mind can abjure to.