"And if i've told you once, i've told you a thousand times. You WILL be a beautiful painting, or I will torture you until you BECOME one."
—BrunoThere's a thunderstorm going on all around me, a real live thunderstorm like Seattle gets maybe once or twice a year, and it's during the day so i can enjoy it, for once! I've been outside standing in the rain and staring up at the sky. it's good for the soul.
the happiest place on earthyou see, she bleeds paint
or that stuff they use on stage,
mint-flavored and thickly sweet.
she bleeds ice cream,
lollipops, cold wateranything but blood
so that those who drink
are soothed by thoughts
of her essential falsehood.
They sculpt her in the image
of their own painand bring her to life,
sticky Galatea.then bleed her of cool water
and the sweets in her eyes
and the words in her mouth.
her heart pumps butter brickleand she sweats happiness
and she is exhausted when they are done.
in her marble alcove, she sags,
eats salt, listens to news of foreign wars,
carves herself in her own secret image.8/3/99
fall at bonsai oaksscream "damn!" as the sky shatters
and forks with lightning,
bright afterimage that corrals
fear and the thunder that arrives
a split second later. the rain
sweeps in, spraying us where we sit
on the porch of our old white house.
"the upstairs bathroom's gonna leak again"
but none of us move to put down buckets
as the sky splits again and the sudden
darkness afterwards speaks of thunderheads
piled miles high. The lights go out
and our grins hide themselves in the dark.
Angela stands on the railing, hands to the sky,
head back and welcoming the flash
that silhouettes and freezes her
against a background washed with white fire
and she burns her way into my memory
as we shout together at the lightning
and the sky, knowing nobody can hear us.8/3/99
