Lynn Strongin
Amanda Flamer

Feeling a bit trancy like after having lost a son:
having lost a daughter, folkloric mists, walking thru milk
blues, amber, dawn           green.
Reaching for a branch of dogwood blossoms in full bloom
broken
burning mid-air. modernity, specificity came later
to rake up all the myths
like autumn leaves           like ashes:
but set in the grate they only took a larger
burning. Keep a watch on storm, Forever Family.
Revival Meetings held up & down the coast.
Look. Amanda Flamer nears the yew bush. Tears.
It floats off from her wood-light. sun-coffin heat:.
The axiom is the sanatorium. Foxes without locks appear:
           isosceles faces:
triangular, heart shaped ears among death flowers.




Illness

I wish this thing you were fighting would melt
like ice at morning sun
like stars with dawn
slip off like a thief in the night.
But it is apple-stealing
the color from your cheeks
the words from your tongue.
I am the one who had polio must live in discomfort
forever as in a stryker frame
of wheelchair X bar accompanying me everywhere
yet I can slip out of my chains
easily as water when I bathe     when snow comes
or rain. it will not shape-change to flaxstand
migrate to mysterious places like a translation
done in perfect Russian then corrupted bent
just like that boy in the fairy tale with silver spoon
dented by battle who cannot take his head off any longer
it is on fire, a rooster's head, a cock's it is
aburn forever & ever till he gets to the end of tie.
What we totally are we can never turn from.




Buttons on a cape

The shepherd's dog has frost in his fur:
Amanda Flamer goes the shadow plunges her into
blackness
ink darkened as you go my Earhart

reflection of plane
in Atlantic
where is Duplicity Lamb now?
Stealing someone's Pond's cold cream to wolf?
         Sitting over a Southern riverbank
         Hellbent for glory from the get-go
         Felicity Brown. over the North Atlantic,
         the termperature is plunging to its knees:
         She sees to the heart of things: she
         swallows inconstancy like a flame-thrower flame.




I memorized where on the floor my bright shoes fell
with lacing
             beside the twin ponds of the glasses.
How like the end was the beginning
a brightness breathing without form
then light then all pulse then rush forward.

Things interest me;
what magnetized me then, does now.
We feel nothing before our birth
after going into the white light

“I have this body mass & it's growing,”
our father said at the end.
I memorized where on the floor my map fell
darkly open to Mississippi. Alabama New Jersey
Atlantic city the boardwalk
Father coming home late on Halloween
the Nab End at the end of his wire
short-circuited Mother
calling from the upstairs room in Atlantic City
“No more trick or treat”
Closed for the night.
For the Duration of the century that had been & that to come:
beside the fallen optics, those severed twin ponds.




Cyclone hits Bangladesh
already hunger-flattened, attrition
shrinking colours of the sky
flattened many flimsy homes
hit southlands cutting electricity
falling trees killed newborns in nana's' arms
blocked access
cut power.
Three villages were completely pancaked
Cyclone is the term used
in the Indian & Pacific Oceans for hurricane
It shook & slammed huts you could string
together with a strong cord or chain:
they reminded me of our kindnesses & our cruelties
strapping the years together like a steam trunk leather:
       when we were young enough to be kind
       bled into age blurred into ripeness
in all their colours, cholers, cruelties
banded
like a lot of trees
or logs
for moving down mountain.




In the valley of the literate

that's where we spent our youth
you escape, our safety net words finely woven
strong as a fish net
a lobster trap the crate darkening with ocean.
The community itself offers a general store
with groceries, bakery items, dining, and a service station.
We were at code red so often in the shade of the mental asylum
leaves darkening as maples, oaks
you wore capes although it also has to do
with my 15th century style of dress.
Off to rainy village to mail more
Smocks and Copper
smocks might be better than capes against rain.
Pennies for spending throwing a lace over sky
protection, ensuring
return home to the valley of the literate
the known & the unknown
the safe & the treacherous glistening under our feet
like blessings or curses
spattered by mud when cart ruts slice deep and wagons roll over
or some angry God throwing a handful at us.



Stolen Rembrandt to be shown at Getty

Between worlds criss-crossing shoe-lacing changing planes
what is thy name?
                I have none but snow, sleet & sun
stars imploding
A painting with a lively criminal past has been found
a Rembrandt's turned up
as one turns soil in spring.
That way I took fistfuls of clutter,
pulled them up like weds, tossed them to the dogs, the hogs
of fortune and time
Fortune my foe                  what other one?
Fate is simply what happens.
Stolen at gunpoint, sold at auction to a collector
longtime owners heirs of my body
were gathered like mourners on the prairies
struck, pistol-wakened, a winter's threshold
pardisal terror afflicted them: twice aware.



Is fate sealed at birth                or in ward-light at dawn
College was in Harlem an
old upper West side Brownstone that look
like a church from one angle
to a bid in the skyfrom others, a prison.
I climbed those stairs backwards on crutches
stricken one year after the shots came in.
When is Fate determiend?
When the child whirls the snowball & sees her own,
his own dark form walking
stalking bright light in the sky
disguised Smiler with knife?
Life.
Lower North my favorite bons bons
I'm beginning to see the light around & within me
spilling over to riverbanks
lapping like the Hudson on a winter morning, iridescent, icy.
The radium Numerals on the watch dial glow
fire which is not totally angel or archangelic enemy.