Some Pass, Some Pass Away

Folds of skin
sat on a plate in a friend’s kitchen.
People talked about the skin,
associated it with this friend
when its vision was requited in their memories.

Eventually, most fell out of touch
with the owner of Plate,
but never did they forget the blooming gore
of that Georgia O’Keeffe-like still life.
In fact,
many are reminded daily,
when they eat tortillas dipped in chili,
when chili is poured atop a hot dog,
when they go to sleep at the end of such days.

… “Folds of skin
sat on a plate in a friend’s kitchen.
Who was that? Whose plate was that?”

The Corn In Purgatory

It was 2 weeks ago
that I bought this jumbo bag of corn chips.

And in that time…

I’ve cried about 7 times,
most of them gently.
Once, sitting on my back porch,
looking into the woods,
still feeling an unending love for my cat Pinky
who passed away 5 years ago.

I had sex with 2 women and 1 man in that time.

Got drunk 6 times.

Wrote 5 poems and 2 songs and edited some fiction.

Started a new job that is mentally draining.

Threw a birthday party for Pinky’s brother, Blue.

Made 2 new good friends.

Saw a couple old friends I hadn’t seen since
the pandemic started.

Had crème brûlée for breakfast twice.

Ate pickles and olives for dinner once.

Had an upsetting conversation with my mother.

Continued falling in love with a woman
I’ve lusted, loved, and respected for 22 years.

And so I sit here on a Saturday morning
with a beer
and a near empty jumbo bag of corn chips
impressed these chips have lasted me this long
and seen me through so much.

The Huntress, The Burrito, The Goats

She looks out the window
with blue eyes,
her breakfast burrito in hand,
the light of the day slices
gold streaks
upon them.
And she finds that the goats
once playing with each other,
headbutting heads,
have tired,
then she realizes
nothing lasts forever,
everything eventually expires.

Her head feels better.
Her mind more clear now.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin