Daily Crossword Poem 4/24/09

Now that I've become a crone I hoard my cache
I used to scoff as only gone-before, ad hoc
junk that went and then the real that hid
would show and off I'd go like phoenix yawn.
As every hen will tell you no one stokes the fire
but you and if you won't your gruel be thin
your sorry life answers who you've been.
My father chafes when grandson calls his age
and rages I am young. Now there's a cautionary
tale. He's eighty five and still alive though bleery
eyed and fading as am I. So yes I've been twit
and haven't earned a swell obit but lest I bore
you my arms though heavy breach for shore.

Never mind.

The hail unzips the sky with a sound between moan
and panic attack. My heart brattatats as I copy
notes into a smeared journal. Nothing today lulls
or consoles me. He says "it's not your money"
and I cower in my workroom but do not work.
What were these thirty two years if not to share
but he's too in despair to care he's wounded me
as he feels cornered without choices, all mine
meaningless when one can hurt the other with
few words and nothing but the pain is real.
It's not my money or my house and the car
outside hit by hail pellets is yellow but isn't mine.
I have no shoes on but if I had they would be his
not mine. None of it mine, though the law would
say they're mine or half. One shoe a half a car
the toothpaste tube but not the cap the withered
almonds on the pantry floor but not the door.
I hate days like these that pry the mouldings
from around the windows, tramp mud through
my, excuse me, his, rooms, show me my wishy-
washy self too frightened to stand up too angry
to run. I have no sword to sunder him limb
from limb no hatchet to chop a pound from
round his heart and he would say I've chopped
a pound from his or albatrossed his neck with
me and all my piddling need and greed and this
another screed we never agreed I'd write. It's
me, it's not alright. You're unhappy, you lash
and the floor's gone out from under the spinning
funhouse ride that turns me white and puking.
But I go to show you I won't give up or in and
I won't quit you or you me though how we got
here neither one can say a map between us
crumpled, torn, the roads rerouted, both
of us together and alone.

Saw/heard Sherman Alexie at Highline High School library this morning. He was wearing a dark suit, maybe blue, maybe black, but with a brilliant darker than sky lighter than navy blue shirt. He spoke to two groups of high school kids - I arrived at the tail end of the first presentation, lined up to speak with him, then stayed for the second, longer talk.

Book Release/Book Signing event for The News from Chiloquin poetry anthology on Thursday afternoon. A highly successful event for those of us who were there. Hurrah!

Listen to me and Chiloquin H.S. junior Vanessa Longley being interviewed on Jefferson Public Radio - streaming tonight, April 1, 2009 (not an April Fools joke) at 8:45 (ish) pm. Once at the site, you'll see three tabs: Classics & News, Rhythm & News and News & Information. Click on News & Information. We were on Jefferson Exchange, with host Keith Henty. Our few minutes of chat and Vanessa reading one of her poems will be worth your effort! We speak about poetry, about Chiloquin, and about, it could be, much, much more. We were both dazed and adrenaline laden, having screeched into the studio just in time to make the interview. It was over before we'd finished arriving like so very much that is important in life.