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BLACK CAT
The black cat with my soul and a piece of
my rib, wakes up every morning not
washing its face, every morning not
brushing its teeth; the black cat with clay-like
eyes, opening and closing, or open-
ing and never closing, as it climbs up
and down the stairs, dragging with it my soul
and a piece of my rib, forgetting that
I had lived much darker days, since when and
why it was I had buried them in my
pocket full of allusions, gathered from
many different tales, strung together
to make up this story about the black
cat with my soul and a piece of my rib;
of course, that is the black cat with clay-like
eyes, not any other kind of eyes; even
as, the black cat climbs up and down the stairs.
Khe Iem
(translated by J. Do Vinh)
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THE LONELIEST SMOKE
I remember the street lamp leaking white,
a rippling bridal veil in Christmas lights
dragged across a tarnished spoonful of pond.
Beyond, cars shred paper snowflakes, a sound
of distance, of wind. My cigarette seemed
mingled with the taste of you. With each gleam
a sigh. I’ve never been in love. Never.
Inside you watched TV, and I shivered.
I don’t know how to do this, to be this
man who borrows bodies and still misses
the worn glove smiles, the familiar hands.
I walked back in, put on my wedding band,
you didn’t even look at me. I see…
I felt like garish tinsel on your tree.
Bill Brando
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LES MISERABLES
Damp. White sail masts move like ghosts over
a fervid water basin. Soon your volcano erupts large
gulls of gray lava—casts of pumice over the coming months.
Taking birds into thought, your fragility opens shutters and flies but you anger
even the tightest suit.
When i lean into the wind i am sideways and You don’t notice
anything else but how crooked my ponytail is.
You don’t notice that i am your daughter and that i have come
from You. The stars are masked by Your
crazy red hair and the thinnest skin hangs down over Your eyes.
Wet with the drink’s fever: sopped merlot and zinfandel fingers suckled and stained
like a red-bellied sparrow. You never notice—
missing keys in your hand, or anything but how
selfish i am.
Deterioration. The birds: their fragility and grace erupt against Your lonely cheek—
a subtle power never realized. Light shows of Gray scrap metal explode.
You know I found your old les miserables shirt.
TornScorpio (Julie Mazza)
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