Dance on Pavement
They were only going for a drive
or to the store
but he grabbed her with a ferocity
that seemed rough
but was instead a wanting so strong
that he needed to reach out
and take her
in his arms and kiss her neck in the middle of
the sidewalk
working up to her lips as
they both smiled.
As they went to their respective sides of the truck
(she drove)
He said:
Oh, I have chocolate on my shirt.
J. McIntyre
Veracity
She walks upstairs
and finds her friend
in his Japanese hotel room.
Her things are strewn everywhere
and she is 24 hours late for her plane.
Dresses and shoes
books and pages
run into her hands (push, push) and back out
with nowhere to go.
Now, she is in California
more of her things strewn around.
They will not fit back into the bags she has brought
even though she has bought nothing
aside from coffee and food.
24 hours late again.
Her belongings multiply in cities.
She gets lonely and these objects become bigger than she is.
They soak up disappointment and fear
lust and confusion
like spilt milk on an end table.
Back in Japan, she can only get the news in English.
Wanting to hear anything besides her (static, static) mother tongue
she walks back down the stairs, finds the dining room
and sits down with him
as he gets up to leave.
J. McIntyre
(Photo by Jon Iraundegi)
Mimicking Momaday
Water, I gave you dirt
expecting only clean skin in return
We ate berries and corn
together in silence
Two old souls
contemplating earth
Not so different, you and I
78% water is a good capacity for someone
Like me (fallible, fallible) to have
Leaps and bounds free us both
(down, down) at each others’ feet
Piecing together molecules to make your clothes
We fought hard for rivers
with our bare hands
Stood together in front of God
Or as they say Buddha Jehovah Allah
The sedition is not the only thing that matters
But it was never too much for us to ask
Of this earth that carries our skin
takes it back and forth and then
around again to all places we go
To the rooms where shadows quake
To the heart of kicked-off shoes
Forgotten till morning comes
You and I, Water, would
never abandon these pieces
that we have made whole
moving the familiar
and continued breathing
of lungs
I Was His Fiddle
The moon kissed me and followed me home.
Untraditional lovers met.
I didn’t want to be rude.
The moon ate all of my cereal,
burped and sat on the couch.
He was at home.
The moon led me astray
to the bedroom of my own.
No door ever held so hard.
The moon left me in quilts
sewn by my daughters.
Only darkness came through the doorway.
J.McIntyre
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