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96 pages, Paperback
First published July 1, 2010
Sharks in the Rivers II
If I moved to Santa Cruz, I could ride the roller coaster
all the time. And learn to surf. Except for the sharks.
I admit I am hopeless.
Sharks are fish, just fish with a rubbery cartilage
and a mind for troublemaking – stirring things up.
It’s not the fish that I fear, but the jaw.
Or, it’s not the jaw, it’s the teeth.
It’s not the teeth, but the multiple rows of teeth,
the conveyor belt of teeth growing like weeds
anchored in their shark skin.
And we think our rivers are protected,
but what of the bull shark?
Breeding in the brackish waters of a river’s mouth,
seemingly solitary, seemingly up to model
fish-like behavior.
(His tempting strength, his fluid dynamics.)
Some say a shark never sleeps, so how can I?
How can I let them into my waterless room
only to stay wide awake?
They hear me, I can tell, from miles away.
(Sharks are listening right now, I’m sending out signals.)
I’m dreaming of them. I’m wrapping my arms
around their cold, gray, magnificent bodies.
We’re both sleeping
with our shark eyes open.
World Versus Girl
The swinging sky patterns
itself after the inside of a giant quiver, shooting
stars at those who still cling
to the criminal bricks of their shaky morals.
Never knew a cloud to mock me so,
an amputated tree limb pointing darkly
at all the flaws inside my skin.
Ths song in my head has whiskey in it,
and a back porch full of rusted nails in mason jars.
It sounds nothing like the song in your head.
In fact, that’s the chorus.
I can hear a small angel dying on its breath.
It was so at home there once, a nest
of clean teeth and an honest-to-goodness tongue.
We can be our only judge, I suppose,
but the river never runs its hands through my hair,
never says, Good luck, girl.
Or at least never says it often enough.
I’m chock-full of bad ideas tonday,
my foul mouth worthy of a good kick.
Let’s storm the hospital!
Let’s burn the bedsheets!
I’ve been walking for a long time,
and it hasn’t made me smarter or faster,
but I bet I can still beat you.
Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow,
but this stubborn monster-girl, gone all wrong
with the river’s sledge, is not
giving in to your one-way-ness.
World, turn all you want to,
faster even. I’ve come to like the way the breeze feels
as it rips me limb from limb.
i say something to god, but he's not a living thing,
so i say it to the river, i say,
i want to walk through this doorway
but without all those ghosts on the edge,
i want them to stay here.
i want them to go on without me.
i want them to burn in the water.