Lynn Strongin
A WAR’S GOING ON
Silently,            a battle-like scurrying, Fighting that swaggart, braggadocio mofo
dishes misery.            Saint Grit, we have come to illumine it:             this unlit room
If Sweet Pea ignores me, I must let her be
Between the dumb-waiter & the dumbfounded children watching Papa leave home, Army hat packed, wedding ring still on hand
Mercury turns retrograde.
The day I first believed
In another life of free-floating anxiety                        crossing the Rubicon
I was a hospital porter                        throwing out last year’s flowers:
I saw hospital-staff thorns
Wetlands mirroring surgeries, white foxes a capture, an urgency
like happiness
I scored musical notes              scrolling down.
Great houses in the background:             rippling satin
smudged glass windows banked
a soft fire            s
grandmother setting out silver before  mute grandfather
two strokes having taken silver speech away from
an immigrant from Romania, a research chemist distilling eternity-mercury, silk & thin.




LABOR DAY WEEKEND                        
I thirst & hunger to be part of the painting: Sweet pea’s Scottish family coming
Me the Jew exiled. She is camera-deprived:
My girl            Sun thin as bicycle spokes, blue spider web ink lines on white linen
where I jotted poems as a kid sullying auntie’s bed linen in a dollhouse room
wallpapered dormer ceiling
clear glass beads
the Book of Knowledge
everything a child didn’t want to know:
 
Make shift olive leather             in my own home was better than her
sandpapered neatness
our family was ruined            like a ship in a bottle.
Among the loved  lost                         I would not come last.
The labor is in the leaning toward
the Saint Dirt Elementary school choir
air-brusht fire                        copper & mineral fire
Lord
dirt yard blowing like a bugle thru the hard yard.