At the upper deck II

At the upper deck, I tell Ankit its not my hat & be careful.

Back then,
we were looking for anything
we could get away with--connect four, pretzels,
pizza, fries,a car ride,
a finger puppet, a downtown movie theater,
anything we could fit
inside a backpack.
But as it turns out the bingo jokes
are mostly bad
and even if you do win its embarrassing.

In the hall today is a postcard, stamps,
unturned & then slipped over.
The space of a thumbtack
points out where the keys weren't put.

In between existing then and not then
existing now,
I get lost in the folds of my own skin.
I forget how to build even a sentence.
I wake up to find my legs are missing,
that my whole family went down to the North River
and drowned.
They'd forgotten how to swim.

And I notice my own legs are missing.
And I notice a weight in my hand.

Someone's dead and we're all sad about it II

But we move apartments and adopt new pets.
We forget things.
The onetime your dog bites the head off a turtle,
you don't hate the dog for it.
After seventeen years in the same position, they tell you
it is now safe to move about the cabin
& the bent spine of things calls for a stretch,
you move limbs you forgot were yours.

But the thing is they aren't finished with you yet.
Over the megaphone they are calling your name,
they are calling us back to our seats, they are saying come back, come back
we have refreshments,
How could you leave so strong a hut?
come back, let us buckle you in
but then again when weren't they,

...Was there not always this?
a turbulence, a blind pacing dark,
the kind of laughter no one talks about,
a kind of label barely sticking to a tincan, a brief glimpse,
your tongue against its ceiling, also blind,
bicycle spokes spitting across a screen,
and the lights coming up.

A poem to You: We, You & I

Four of Cups (Luxury), when reversed: New and unusual relationships and opportunities. The reawakening of your appetite for life or love. The path of excess leading to spiritual rejuvenation and the appearance of novel ambitions.

Love is a shelf where I've kept you in pickle-juice,
next to a sign which says please
next to a sign which reads do not touch.
When I applied to be your piano teacher,
it felt as if no one was watching it happen.
You named the chords.
I swung at the minor lift.
It was a duel of-sorts we turned our backs on
and left like a body rolled in sand.
I purchased a ticket to another city & flew there.
I arrived alone and said little
of the large white elephant that stood in the walkway, the lobby,
the pitiless smell in the hall.
Everyone I knew was heading off to work.
No one would hire me to play your piano.
No one would tell me the names of instruments,
a continuous silence played on the radio.
I was trying to remember the name of your city.
I was thinking I could get a job, ask for a transfer, show up
shuffling around in my purse--
they needed me here, i could say
when I happened to see you
and under my breath--
you needed me.