Sunday, April 4, 2010

30/30 Day 2

I HATE formatting on blogger! In light of that and until I find a new blog space, "/" will stand in for wide spacing.

(Working Title)

Silently our misunderstandings shred/ rage clouds our blood ties
I stare at his words/ wonder who he is
- from He Saw by Chrystos

I have known what men become
when they fish fish and can’t catch—
come home from all that standing still
briny feet/ all that the world wouldn’t bite.

And there’s usually a girl in her room
or mother’s bed alone who’s made to learn
to be a fish-- eyes wide, belly white, hook
it’s the barb that gets you

Last thing I remember is asking
to be taught to clean a fish
and sharpen a knife by hand. My father's

were the only clothes big enough for me
to wear-- my hips where his stomach stood
perky, drum hollow brown hyde.

He and I have raised weapons
for always-- he shrinking out of our clothes
hacking his long ponytail
away with a switchblade, falling in love with
blonde women leaving mother

to tweeze her brows. In the absence
of sharper knifed lessons I’ve raised
a naked hip/ shimmy/ unshaven pit
for a crowd— loved a woman
into her cock like my father
could never convince a thin girl, a mother,
or man in a locker room to.

We have both bought new clothes
without speaking a word

I am stuck half way between a fish girl
love sick for shiny things-- and a bully-- my
father’s best prodigy.

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