feng shui

I

a nor’ easterly door

ain’t shouldn’ta been black?

telling me what to do don’t sit too well

II

it’s difficult being a 

non-alpha Capricorn 

with a heart tinged

a little dark, beating slow

I had a Beta fish called Feist Boy

I never learned to put me first

I wasn’t taught, in fact,

I wasn’t taught much 

outside the classroom

where I sponged to overflow

too late in life; as a youngling 

reared on the bright and shiny 

of flickering tubes and the smell?

of paper turned sepia

the waiting game

marks on the wall, black

electrical, blue

plumbing, they wait 

for the walls to open 

limbo lingers endlessly 

my chest is heavy

with the dust in the air 

buying shears so as 

not to be seen

“in the dictionary between shit and syphilis”

Daddy was full of wise words and wisecracks 

he’d say “up and at em,” and “get ‘er done”

and though I still drag my feet waking

(for I love my bed and dreaming just a little too much)

I did …”git ‘er done”

too young in fact: I worked like him, like a bee buzzing 

filling the minutes hours days weeks months years decades

I never missed what I never had, 

until now when I wonder ‘what if’

while Daddy sits in his chair not wanting to rise

I want to echo his words, I want to say

“remember what you’d say about sympathy?

we all know where it can be found”

I want to scream, “get up, Dad, get ‘er done!”

instead I murmur these things to my own self 

to cold bones and stiff knees 

while I drag out of bed slowly waking 

much like I was at ten, wanting to sleep a few minutes more

zing pop pow

I have stopped waiting 

for life to happen 

for the world to change 

for others to…other

who knew Mercedes made a hearse

the dome outside my window 

the one with the cross and flag atop?

across the square where 

four odd lanes cross? 

people gather outside wearing 

whatever the day brings, chatting 

with backs on houses 

in doorways including my own 

in the process of replacement 

a small few inside, sitting waiting 

for the priest

for the hearse to crawl

a flood of mostly men inching 

and I wonder, will the hill be too steep 

as canes clicking

on pavement amidst murmurs 

as the workers hammer 

mistakenly it seems

do not give me your tired

poor or hungry? keep away!

your yearning to breathe 

for I can barely contain 

my own struggles caged

too many pointing-telling

what to do-think: how to be

hardening the shell I sought 

to soften mistakenly it seems 

when existing became a chore