he said & disappeared into the crowd – “Nuts,” she thought but later in the day when the big brown dog chased her down the alley & a man waited with a van & . . . & by the time they got to Tucson the last she remembered was the radio & a voice that said the border was closed & he encouraging her to dance ‘in the light of the moon’ as it was full & when he took her in his arms & whirled her across the desert floor she gave herself to impulse & married him on the spot – for that night at least – & that’s what he’d tell his friends in Harry’s Bar until Sunday when she stormed the door & dazzled them with her footwork & backed him flailing into a night of no return when the lights went out & he’d never be seen again.
There Are Mothers
wheeling buggies over hot coals, messengers high on blue smoke & tabloids greasing the gears of genocide. There’s a father further down the boulevard dancing belly to belly with a boy in black who offers a chocolate kiss & hisses in his one good ear; his tongue a torch to light the way to heaven’s gate. There’s a mother practiced in cures for an ailing head but nothing for a heart awash in dread who worships at the door where a mouth delivers a basket of lies. This is no time to question authority, shutter your windows or leave in the dark. & yet, there are mothers huddled with children in the woods who barter themselves for a second chance. They’re tough & they’re wanton . . . between screams & whispers, they have & they will abide.
There are men & women who cannot see the sun rise without suffering a crippling pain between their eyes . . . those who fear the ticking of a clock.
An out-of-work carpenter in Sicily sets himself on fire on the steps of the Palermo Municipal Courthouse. His note reads: I am ruined.
Dimitris Papadopoulos, a recently laid-off insurance exec in Athens Greece, shoots dead his two kids, his wife & himself.
Where there’s a garden in full flower, some see only the falling petals – a viper where a young kid pirouettes & prances.
Andreu Font, a Spanish geology professor who lost his job when his college was forced to close, hangs himself from a mid-town lamp post.
In Toledo Ohio, in front of a glass factory where he once worked, Robert Hall props the muzzle of a 12-gauge under his chin & pulls the trigger.
Where the mountains meet the sea, there are those who dread the untamable rage of the catapulting surf – the tranquility of the receding waves.
On May 25, 2011, Fay Yee calls her neighbor to ask her to look after her Collie pup then leaps to her death from the Golden Gate Bridge.
There are men & women who cannot see the sun rise without suffering a crippling pain between their eyes . . .