Monday, March 01, 2010

Why Didn't You Save Me,
You Continue to Ask

July, the month of smoke, the month
of long dry houses, burning.

How to make a bong with a knife
and a salt shaker, a knife and a shoelace,
a knife and a human hand.

You yelled once-- a long, dog-
like sound. Something yellow in my

peripheral vision. A bruise on your jaw,
a new white around the rims of your eyes.

Nyquil and orange juice, wine and five
Sudafed, we were chopping aspirin
into powder: what could we do
to the inside of our noses?

We used lighters covered with hearts
to melt my Breyer animals
into the shape of a boat:

the calves,
the tiny horsemen,
the stiff collies, bending slow

then quick to the flame


Noxalio said...


this one is vivid and
powerful and
quite believable.

the title is hauntingly

a great piece
all around!

Christine said...


Nathan Bertz said...

I happened upon your site and this poem immediately caught my eye. It's nice to read a poem without sparrows, fields, or bible quotes for a change. Well done!