Poem

ZEN AND THE ART OF BLACKBERRY HUNTING Nature as a whole breathes. So I step inside and like a diamond thief my Pink Panther shines. It breathes in now and I go with it and within it's pause the opposable thumb rules as the eighth wonder. Soft, hard, and a million calculations later, of archetypal memory, it breathes out. So I gently pull and with it, move out to complete the relocation of the jewels to our breakfast.

Poem

ElVIS DIED HERE

They used to make bug screens out of steel
and man,
would they smell like summer

Through them
I could hear the distant hum of I-94
truck's delivering
families escaping

But not mine
We are all on this side of the screen
our turning bodies
squeaking bed springs
the odor of old wood
required of most proper cottages
filling me stupid

Falling into sleep I recall the day
shooting bullets into crumpled Pabst beer cans
stacked high in a pyramid
with evaporated lake water on my skin
swimming like a gill less fish
standing on the top of the sand bank
arms waving

water saying hello to land
land saying hello to water


This is where I learned that Elvis had left the room

But not where I learned
that cancer does not distinguish between

good/bad
sweet/sour
beautiful/ugly

But the sound of a screen door's spring
and the ascending notes of "Hi! Hi! Hi!"
...ultimately...
win.

They used to make bug screens out of steel
and man,
would they smell like summer

-for Joyce