The Blue Pitcher

that which may be filled and emptied

Month: August, 2013

Because I am not getting younger


Eva says,

Only a blueberry can be the size of a blueberry.

Take Two

Dear Tulsa—
It wasn’t the storms that drove me out of town.
Those, I’ve carried in my body: the clouds, swell of sky,
curve of a ditch for shelter. I can’t remember what I remember
and what I only think I remember. All those Mikes ago. Fat Mike.
Dead Mike. Gay Mike. Mike Mike. O to sit at that little place
on 36thStreet eating ramekin upon ramekin of queso, to stand
in line for the Phantasmagoria, to sleep like a teenager
and love like a teenager and want like a teenager, pour
packets and packets of Sweet-n-Low in coffee, and cry,
cry that howling cry, hurt that awful hurt. If I tried, and I try not to,
but if I did, I could feel the ditch still, feel the dead grass
on my bare arms and bare legs and watch the storm move over me,

so certain that it would take me, so surprised that it didn’t.

Ought to

As Pretty Does

If pretty is as pretty does
and does is sitting on a stair

If the stair is nothing but a dirty gem
and the gem is stand-in for the sky

If sky is stars and stars are bread
If all that’s white is really red

If you are me and I am you
If fat is thin and thin is true

Then do be pretty and do be swell
and throw your nevers into the well

For if in the end I ache with ought
Then sell me now my soul is bought

What it wasn’t

it’s not