THREE POEMS
Things Learned the Hard Way
That the semi-circular canal is part of my ear,not a style of Venetian waterway arch,I learned mid-air on a Huffy.That bicycles left long out in the rain split.That prepositions are tricky.That I was made part industrious,part lazy-assed. That descriptionsof a crappy bike and person can besimilar: One end launching forward,the other dragging. That my bodycan be projectile, weapon, lyricfalling in the stilled time between.That similarities are convenientand narrative ends with my headwonky and fluid pulsing out my ears,that you horrify friends with imagesthey usually see in movies. Friendslike to dramatize horror by pointingwith one hand, covering their mouthswith the other, as if keeping their soulsfrom flying out. That souls leave.Friendship is teetering on a chair,while one dunks my wrecked headin a sink of ice water, the othertime-lapsed dialing a rotary phone.That underwater you can bestunned or dreaming or both.That paramedics arriving is a handyclose for a story, that paramedics teachtenderness and ironic detachment,two of the four legs of a dog. That dogslick salt from my face. That I do not knowwhat the other two legs are, it bothers.I’d rather my face be licked by dogsthan submerged in ice or face plantingsidewalks or lying in a hospital bedwaiting for my jaw to be wired shut,while the neighbor girl, Beth, visits.That I would prefer to be small againin a warm bath with Beth navigatingplastic boats through glaciers of suds.That boats get wrecked, kids get cancer.That a heart is made of a thousand cracks you can’t see until the first one shows.That dogs are good at hearing things break,they lie down beside the broken.That we flail, that grace floats in the after.
