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San DiegoPoetry TogetherChallenge
ABOUT THE SAN DIEGOPOETRY TOGETHER CHALLENGEThe San Diego Poetry Together Challenge: A PoeticResponse to Pandemic Project was founded in May2020 by Ron Salisbury, who is serving as the Cityof San Diego’s 1st Poet Laureate. Salisburyestablished the project as a way to engage,document, and encourage a public appreciation ofpoetry as well as acknowledge the important rolecreativity could play during the state shelter-inplace order in response to the COVID-19 pandemic.The project called for San Diego poets and writersto share their poems or spoken words and theresponse was overwhelming. Over 170 San Dieganpoets submitted poems. Of the works submitted,Salisbury selected six works to be published on theCity’s website. The project culminated with thecollection contained here which represents theentirety of the submitted poems. These works weresubmitted in response to two prompts, one ondreams, and the other on waiting. The works archivea collective experience, a month of localresilience, creativity, and loss - a San Diegopoetic testimony to the global pandemic.2
FOREWORD BYRON SALISBURYSAN DIEGO’S FIRST POET LAUREATEWe all write poetry for different reason, how wewrite our poetry is as varied. Some of us have anidea or feeling that we want to express. And someof us write to find out what we are feeling. Inalmost all instances, we are surprised with theresults, some in small ways and some in large. Thatis because poetry is the shortest distance from ourunconscious to the page of any of the written arts.Poetry relieves some of the pressures we experiencein these times. Poems may not cure anything, butpoetry allows us to go on. Each in their own way,these poems from “Poetry Together Challenge,”surprise us. Each in their own way, these poemsreveal to us, the readers, the little key hole tothe inside the poet has found. It is no surprise tome, the impact I experience seeing all these poemsin one place. Good job poets of San Diego, keepwriting.3
A WORD BYJONATHON GLUSEXECUTIVE DIRECTORCOMMISSION FOR ARTS AND CULTURECOVID-19 has landed us all in a place we neverexpected, in some ways an entirely foreign placewhere our very ability to move about in our normallives is hampered. So many questions. Is movement aright or a privilege? When does individual rightgive way to the collective safety? What does itmean for family and for isolation? Is there a newnormal we all will have to find post-pandemic?We are so fortunate to have Ron Salisbury as ourinaugural poet laureate for the City of San Diego.Ron’s lived experiences and his deep commitment toteaching poetry, mentoring poets and raising poetryas a shared conversation among us all is the genusof this book of poetry informed by this unique timein the life of San Diego.Please enjoy.4
PROMPT 1DREAMS: DURING THESE DAYS OF SECLUSION, THE NIGHTSARE SOMETIMES CALM AND SOMETIMES NOT. IT MAY BECRAMPED WITH EVERYONE HERE, OR SOMEWHAT LONELY WITHONLY YOU. AND THE DREAMS WE HAVE ARE SOMETIMES FINEAND SOMETIMES NOT. WHAT ARE YOUR DREAMS LIKE INTHESE TIMES?5
The Mayor CalledIn his dream, Reggie is dreamingand the mayor calls,needs a poem by tomorrow.Even though vexing,it made a kind of sense to him, in the dreamhe was dreaming, even thoughReggie hasn’t written a poemfor sixty-five years, since the oneto Jeannie Balabus in seventh grade,intercepted by Mrs. Johnsonwho made him read it to the whole class.In the morning, Reggie is already confusedenoughwith the dream of dreamingwithout the poem and the mayor.The mayor called on a land linewhich Reggie doesn’t have.But it was so real!He thought he might try somethingjust in case,turns on his lap top and begins typing,“We miss the mauzy woods of Torrey Pines,the flaming furze along the Sunset Cliffs.”What? I didn’t type that! Tries again.“Its neighing cleaves, its gladsome plentypurling down, ridgy waves, our graver thoughts.”What is going on?“Oh San Diego, its days adagio, we miss you so.”The phone rings in the bedroom, Reggie goes toanswer,picks up the receiver. It’s Mrs. Johnson.Ron Salisbury, San Diego Poet Laureate6
SELECTED POEMSFrom the submission to each prompt, PoetLaureate, Ron Salisbury selected 3 works to befeatured along with his poem.7
QuarandreamLawn mower buzzing on theother side of the windowrattles my headI wakewalk downstairs to the kitchenwhere coffee brewsIts steam trails to the altar where smokefrom a lavender scented candlehovers over the handsof my MotherShe prays the world healsand liberates from the outbreaklifting her hands to her foreheadEyes closed connecting to Buddha and her angelsaboveWe are awakeBut I sit in the kitchen and observesip my coffeeBlacklike a portal to a dreamI dream of a time when shecan walk to the grocery storeAlone without fearing forshouts and kicksThat will rattle her headbecause everyone Asian must be fromChina and carry the “Chinese Virus”Therefore, a threatWhat a dream today becomes whenone of her children must accompany herto the grocery store just in case8
Had to sit outsideThe same Goldfinch sings as ifthey now guard the canyon and the skybeyond the backyardI think about these timesFeels like Earth looks up to its own skyWrapped in the black of spaceWondering ifthis is all a dreamKrysada Phounsiri, 91911I try to read the name of your perfumeI dodge unmasked walkers on the Silver Strand,rebreathe stale breaths beneath the pajamafabricof my mask. Toddlers in oncoming strollersstare. Yesterday, unmasked, I could have smiledat them. Sunlight slips over the kestrelsculpturemade of spoons in my father’s house. AndersonCoopershows viewers the divot in the haircut he gavehimself. Cuomobroadcasts sweating from basement quarantine. Webinge-watch9
Joe Exotic, Fleabag, Ozark. The coyotes on theRussian Riveryip by night, prehistoric silver sips. People inMarinhowl now too, I’m told. I pull tarot’s Towercard, the Loversnext. Chile, Iceland, Denmark, India, San Diego,Mexicoand Maine: Facebook Live, Snatum Kaur’s morningcircle, guitarin her arms. We chant, we sing from home: 700,800, 1k the countercounts, thread of heart emojis like a diver’sbubbles on the screen,our upraised palms to sky. For Father on aventilator. For Auntiewho won’t ever see one. For Grandma living withher two dogsin Texas. For the pregnant mother in ICU. Forthe twelve pagesof Boston obituaries. For the ER doctor who tookher life. Threetimes we hold our breath, once for the self,once for the circle’severy prayer, a third time for time itself, allbeings, every heartbeating despite suspended breath. I dream inperpetual zoom,10
gallery view. I see you, propped on pillows,your dresser behind you.I try to read the name of your perfume, thespines of the bookson your shelf, forget to unmute my audio when myturn to speak,my house shrunk, a wooden star afloat on a seathe red tide churnsbioluminescent blue, a tsunami’s curling wave atevery sill.I hold my breath, raise my palms to the ceiling,and sing.Tania Pryputniewicz, 92118Dreams Can Go ViralI probably shouldn’t be telling you this. Ishould be talking to a psychologist, a priest,or maybe even the police because something ischasing me, and it means to do me harm. So far,I have no evidence, at least none that anyonewould believe, but just before I wake up andimmediately after, I see robot-like figuresabout to overtake me, throwing hand grenadesfilled with Covid-19. I’m hesitant to speak up.I’m afraid people will think I’m nuts but then Iconsider Jacob dreamed he saw angels climbingladders to heaven about 3500 years ago, and he’sstill pulling that one off and Mary Shelley,11
while hanging out with Lord Byron a couplehundred years ago, dreamed of creating alaboratory monster and that’s been good for her.Robert Louis Stevenson dreamed up Jekyll andHyde and E.B. White took twenty years to develophis dream of a talking mouse into StuartLittle. More recently, Steven King on a flightto London, dreamed about a crazy woman whokidnapped her favorite writer and tortured him.His dream became Misery. So, stick around. I’mjust waiting for the heavy-duty PPE I’veordered. I’ll survive this and publish mythriller.Ron Lauderbach12
POEMSCollection of submitted poems in response toprompt 1.13
COVID-19 DAYS OF SECLUSIONSeclusion is both ordinary and extraordinarycondition.By nature, family live together as acommune.Strength the effect of unison.Universal as it is shall go on.Dark are days of sickness.Calm means motionless.Heart and mind at times restless.Man creates own blessedness.State of fundamental darkness crampedeveryone.Education and technology treat a communityand love ones.How could we be lost when confusionis gone.Some dreams are negative.Others are positive.Great thinkers say: "Let’s turn poisoninto medicine."Can't Corona virus gets further in.Quarantine and social distancing aretimely basic practices.Take sometime and we'll be at ease.As we have been doing.May take couple of years for the timebeing.14
Each morning as I wake up.Thoroughly wash my hands and dry it up.Being at age seventy-five.I'll let Corona virus hit me atNinety-five.A.B. Ellorin, 92139We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made OnWilliam Shakespeare, The TempestAlone but not lonely,in this strange timewhere technology rulesputs us in touch with the worldfriends, peers, lovers,long forgotten relatives.What was once a dreamfloating high in the sky among the clouds,not today’s cloudsynonymous with storehouseof thoughts, ideas, pictures, memoriesbut a dream cloud, amorphous, imaginative.I zoom in on classesdinner partieshappy hours15
poetry readingsworkshopsstill in pajamas at six pm.Once I dreamtof time alone,on a deserted islandwith a pile of unread bookssleeping on the sandwalking on the shoreexisting on coconut milk and fresh seafood.This pipe dreamhas faded with today’s reality.Now I dream of hugging my grandchildrensqueezing them against my breastwhispering in their ears how much I love them.Now I dream of sitting in a roomlistening to my favorite jazz guitaristor a darkened movie theater redolentwith popcorn.My world is full of stuff dreams are made onand now I hope to wake to a new normalkinder, gentler than the one before.Janice Alper, 92037Now I Lay Me Down to Dream COVID-19Dreamweaver O DreamweaverWhen did you spin this web of disease?16
One night I fell into a nightmarish dream fromwhich I cannot awaken,Like a grade B horror movie, I cannot find thedoor,Feverish nights in sweat drenched sheets -nowhereto run, no place to hideLost in the Twilight Zone – “Worldwide PandemicCOVID-19”Earth day 2020, what was the vision? No planet B.Precursor of a utopian dream.I daydream of life before N95 masks, plastic glovesand fogged over polycarbonate face shields.Dreamcatcher memories of crowded malls, teemingboardwalks, bare bodied bikinis on sandy beaches.Ponies dance up and down to the sound of thecarousel,No Clorox disinfecting wipe needed.I wring my hands with worry, this non-GMO virusfrom some Wuhan placeNot bio-engineered for extermination of the wholehuman race,Maybe, genocide of the, old, weak, and poor.“When E.F. Hutton speaks, everyone turns to listen”When I cough, every head turns to see who infectsthe air?My fingers fidget like a squirrel fondling a nut,Yesterday, only thieves approached the 7- Elevenwith a face maskNow everyone and their brother wears a mask.Nose and mouth harbingers of death, must remaincovered.Eyes, terrified, reveal outposts of fear17
Social distancing, this ain’t no fun, but I want tolive!Healthcare workers, first responders, food serviceworkers,truckers, meat packers, janitors, and stooplaborers,Essential workers now recognized and honored fortheir common valor.Were they ever paid like MVPs?Are they destined for Elysian fields?Dreamweaver flies me thru space and time; conveneswith 1918 proud, heroic statistical soulsToday, 80,000 plus Americans dead, and rising; 26million out of work – and countingFood lines, now traffic lines and parking lots,1930 plea, “hey buddy can you spare a dime?”Taco Tuesday now giving Tuesday, lucid dream of analtruistic day.Dreamweaver guide us to Science, the genetic codeand template vaccines for COVID-19.Nothing lasts forever. I daydream of the dawning ofthe Age of Aquarius.Birds sing. Pollution gone. Nature finds its wayback into the streets.The world turned topsy-turvy.Lay dreams upon us.Olga Anson, 92116Dream City18
When the moon has chased the sun out of our site.And darkness is all we know.It’s dreamtime our Native American Elders say.And at times I look forward to not dreamingjust going to a placewhere it can all be temporarily forgotten.The pandemic, not been able to wrap my arms aroundloved ones,or light the fire for a sacred ceremony.HoweverDreamtime has its own agendamainly anxietymanifested as fearMe running from a virusa nurse with a frightened lookyou tested positiveare her words.Dreams of a careless menot wearing a mask or social distancecontracting covid once more.Then an ancient voice guides meto reinvent the dreamunderstanding thatfear is everywhere and Ia two-legged human is picking it all up.This is just a dream that ancient voice says.and from another place another set of words emerge.19
You will be fine.Fear and Anxiety is all it is.So I change the dream togrowing wings like the monarchstraveling to where I choose.Only happiness as my wings flap.Our Elders say we dream to flyand reclaim our breathreclaim our spirit we must.Macedonio Arteaga Jr., 92115MarchI’m not sure what I’m doing anymore.I wake each morning cold, reaching for you.My bones still feel frozen, my dear,and my heart cracks like the deep sea ice shifting.I don’t think I’ll ever be free of it.Summer no longer eases the ache in my chestand I can’t blame the asthma anymore,it’s not that. It’s the hole you left in meleaking air into my chest cavitypressing out, expanding, squeezing my insides.It’s trying to escape; drown me in my own breath20
and sometimes? I wish it could.Quinn Atwater, 92115Critters CreepWhile Humans Sleep,The Critters Creep,From Canyon, Crest and Cave‘Cross Empty Streets,They Make their MeetsNewly Bold and BraveWe Snuggle DeepDon’t make a PeepAs our Hearts Fall Through the FloorCould This be a Dream?It Sure Does Seem,We’ve Heard a Lion’s Roar.Shannon Biggs, 9210321
I wake in the middle of the nightAnd listen to my husband’s ragged breaths,As he sleeps restlessly.I know that in the morningHe will tell me he had bad dreams,Brought on by daylight thoughtsof this novel virus.But those are not the dreams that trouble me.Instead, I mourn the young dreams,Hardly won and newly lostPatricia Dunning Campbell, 92109many whole daysof staying home.so Differentlike a day offbut really,a Day on.instead of a job,a deadline,22
someone else’s errand or pressure,we have hoursof time holesand a multiple-choiceof Fillers.In the nightwatchesthe Surrender to my underthoughtsis now a conscious journey,not a busy- sleep- dream,but a Wandering inwhat is really thereand has Forever beenLois E. Carlson, 91901THE WAYS of LIFEGravity pulls hugs down granite holes.My breath is labored and hot.Old friends cross the street.Smiles are masked, invisible.Days and nights pass.Walks are the way of life.But, walks show wispy clouds.Clouds, the legends of life.23
Clouds bring the warm, round moon.It’s roundness engulfs the sky.Stars tangle in my hair.And the sun falls in my hands.Jo Ann Christensen, 92117Looking GlassLostAbandonedUnknownFreeReleased to growAdriftLost in space and timeReverberating presenceSolid , elating presenceRocking between stillness and movementEntropyMustn’t physics remain?Quiet, so quietWeeps into pillowsDances revived from the forgottenFamiliar facesDreams only occur in restless sleep24
Jubilation or fearStuckEyes glued to screensNot wanting to closeTo let goTo the mindReturning to where it wants to beLongingAlways longingNever enoughTill it’s enoughToughFamiliar facesForeign placesI’m not where I’m meant to beTill I fallAsleepLola Claire, 92037In The Time Of CoronavirusBreaths are few and far betweenUnconscious, eerily awareA voice, calming, reassuring, I'm here for youThe drumbeat of a machine, giving me lifeLonely, lonely, where is everyone?25
Where am I? Am I still alive? Or am I lost in thedarkness?Voice again, scared now?, confused, then silenceA steady hum growing louder, droning on, now gone,now goneWhere is everyone?James Clark, 92020The Blue FluI'm a little bit sad, just a little bit blue,Enough about me, how's the pandemic hit you?Have you food in your belly?Do you have gas in your tank?Do you still have a few dollarsLeft in your bank?Are you getting some exercise?Or are you resting your bones?Are you losing your business,While you’re taking out loans?Are you counting your blessings,While losing your mind?How are you provisioned with flour,Yeast, whiskey and wine?Have you heard from your loved ones,Y'alls mom'r an ‘em,I hear the beaches are now open,Have you been for a swim?Me? I've been out walking,And I've been riding my bike,26
I mostly keep to myself,As I do what I like.When bored I thrash on my old guitar strings,When the pandemic throws pitches,I just take a few swings.I long for returning to whatever the new normalwill bring,When my beautiful grandsons come back over,And we'll run, play and swing.I miss the song of their voices,I miss seeing them grow,So much happening to themWithout us, you know.Yes, I think I miss those two critters,Just about most of all,And that’s really,All I wanted to sayTo you all.Be safe, be healthy and be patient.Randy Crawford, 92115We loved our long life togetherTime passed quickly, but even soletting you go, when you didn't get betterWhat was left, we'll never knowIsolated, now aloneYour echoes still remainwe mourn for you at home.Nothing ever will be the same.27
Cindy Cremona, 92024These HandsThese hands declared their independenceThey fought for freedom to find transcendenceThese hands bled so that we could be freeThey endured great losses for libertyThese hands persevered to win a revolutionThey debated and discussed to form our ConstitutionThese hands battled to see our flag waveOver the land of the free, and the home of thebraveThese hands stretched from sea to shining seaThey explored mountains, rivers, prairies, andtreesThese hands built the Erie CanalWith good old workers and good old palsThese hands were hit with a mighty blowThey took up the charge to “Remember The Alamo”These hands cruised our rivers aboard our grandsteamshipsThey traveled on the paddle wheels to takeadventure tripsThese hands evoked our Native PrideWith culture and customs that never diedThese hands live in harmony with NatureThey are connected with birds, bison, and glaciers28
These hands mined for California goldThey dreamed of riches that they could holdThese hands blazed the Oregon TrailThey pioneered westward over hill and daleThese hands toiled in the land of cottonWhere their servitude will not be forgottenThese hands were bound and chainedThey were whipped and beaten and often bloodstainedThese hands fought a Civil War over slaveryAn institution that was truly unsavoryThese are the hands that this nation did birthThat a government for all people shall not perishfrom earthThese hands built the transcontinental railroadAnd hammered their way into our heart and soulThese hands also roped and tiedThey rode with cowboys on cattle drivesThese hands ignited some beautiful sparksWhen they set aside land for national parksThese hands assembled the carThis little gadget that let us go farThese hands lived through The Great WarThey continued to work, sing, dance, and roarThese hands suffered before they could quoteFinally giving women the ability to voteThese hands fumbled in a stock market sessionAnd threw us in a Great DepressionThese hands recovered and began to createProducts and services that made this land great29
These hands rallied against a foreign enemyAfter that day which lives in infamyThese hands sailed, stormed, and flewThey always defended the red, white, and blueThese hands held their dream to the lightsThey marched until they gained Civil RightsThese hands struggled with a difficult choiceWhether to go to a war, or rebel with theIr voiceThese hands started a technology raceThey accomplished a goal to put a man into spaceThese hands continued to grindThey took one step for man and a leap for mankindThese hands brought computers into our homesAnd the next thing we knew they were on our phonesThese are the hands that with a net unfurledWithin a few years they connected the worldThese hands united to ring the bellOn that September morning when our towers fellThese hands led this land on a rideTo once again feel American PrideNow these hands must fight another wretched foeThey cannot see it, but death it does knowAnd although they might be weathered, calloused, orcovered with clayI am proud that these hands are from the U. S. ofA.Alan Dale, 9210930
Dreams in April 2020Glass house, crystals dangleviolet sparks, irisI am blindexcept for elated scenta trail of overtonea nuanceI catch the indigo ina cornea by feel,moist.Moist like citrinea clash of saffronyou alonein your swayback chairbehind glass walls.Delighted,I knock and knock again,knock and knock againYou stare ahead atcrystals dangling, dazzlinga fractured lensa dilated pupilI knockCarrie Danielson, 9203631
Sweet Peas Blooming Around MeGazing at sweet peas in awe;inviting to viewperfectly beautifula piece of life.Sweet peas of all hues are blooming;dramatic pinksdazzling purplesdeep reds.Sparkling & perfumed flowers blossom;life continues to bloomaround me.Rachelle Farber, 92011To the Quaran-Teens in Love and ApartWhat is theSpace Between u and meThe Space between our bodies?An Infinity of.negativeA lack ofA voidDevoid of touch or tasteNo hold, no kiss32
No lingering fingertips on dancing hipsNoNoNoNodancing togethermaking new shapesholding each otherbreathing your faceNo meals togetherNo get togethersNo breathing the same airNo coffee shopsNo late nights outNo somethings we can shareNOT going out.No going out.No going.anywhereNOT being togetherNO beings togetherno THINGS togetherNothing together.HAVING nothing together.DOING nothing together.is NOT togetherNothing.Nothing. is.Nothing is no light, no day.Nothing is Everything far awayYour light can’t be seen from that far awayYour heat can’t bring comfort from that far awayYour beats can’t be rhymed to from that far away33
We can’t. be us tomorrow/todayWe can’t be usfrom this far away.A broken hazy gray that stumbles into blackIn this cold nothing.in this lack of day.No nightNo restful peaceNo usNo unity.Just youAnd meDivided.by.space.What is the space between two souls/Interconnected?NOTHING in the space betweenNothing IS the space betweenNothing is the space between USDistance is not a thing between usNothing is between usNothing is between usNothing but. space.Space for growth and the distance to seeA forest, I never knew, surrounding your treeThe beauty of you, independent of me34
Not caught up and twisted by my gravityIn this distance we are freeFree from Expectations on unsteady foundationsFree from patterns of trauma below and aboveUnbound by obligations to old notions of loveFree to be youand free to be me in a new space of NO.No fronting, no backingNo playin’, jus’ sayin’,No pretending to be anything but usNothing is between usNothing is the distance between usNothing is the stretch I reach to see your faceI press a button to see your faceI press a button. and I feel graceI press a button and we. make. space.For you and me, in this new SHARED space.We share this space. OUR place. Together.Nothing is the distance between us.Leonardo Francisco, 91945Better DaysTelephone calls, lost client files, courtappearances, random e-mails,35
Payroll taxes, filing fees, missing accountsreceivables,Forgotten birthdays, elusive dates, discoveryresponses due.I cannot breathe, am I under water?Now I start to float.Recipes for chicken cacciatore and watermelonmartinis,Warm Island Prime lobster bisque with a view,Homemade pasta, spaghetti noodles, and ravioli.Kayaking Mission Bay, Bar-b-ques, and music,Dancing, walking, skipping, lots of feet movingtogetherLaughter, crowds, Ferris wheels horses.Animals in rainbow colors, moving up and downSoft and furry, stretching, moving, licking a frontpawPurring, petting, and meow. I wake with myquarantine friend.Miranda C. Franks, 9201936
Different SkyUnder white pillow ceilingsI witness in childlike wonderThe Great King Elephantdid hide in the Cloudswith his friendsDeath and FollyHonu and Homer's heroesPavarti with Peacocksand Rockhopper PenguinsThe World has stoppedThe Oceansthen whisperedto the EarthThe Sky overheard themand sculpted againwith great abandonThe Earthwas tremendously overjoyedShe set uponbolder trees and wiser desertsAnd let the animals knowFlowers with unique facesde novo in the joy of the Raincleansing the lonely paths of man37
I beheld a Different Sky todaysweet with promise and decorumwhere Clarity holds ParamountShe repeatsto those who will listenThe Sun sang his shiny songand threw spotlightsunspoiled uponall the Creatures of CreationBeast and birdsynced reminiscent rhythmsBreaking throughthe now ancientCities of GoldEnormous flocks did crowdthe modern SkyAnd the Rebirth is knownAs Phoenix itselfleads the formationThrough it allThe Stars see usmore clearly nowThe Moon somehowseems moments closeras she winks delishand swings her sass38
They each escapedto the freshborneLilac Meadowwhere they cajoled and rejoicedThe Wind and the Rainteased the CloudsThe Sun begged the Moonfor this symbolic danceThe Stars waltzedhide-and-seekwith the shrubsand the hedgesMan was invited too.He was warnednot to play too closeto the FireAgainAll dancedour blessed danceAnd reveledAs Yesterday's pyreflared higherand fartherLicking the toesof all living things39
Golden foxesdid strike fair accordwith withered sheepand woeful jackrabbitsTruer stillThe Elementsonce again grantedMan humble magnificenceI stood reverentlyencouraged and inspiredby this resetAlas repurposeAnother opportunity yetOf Nature's Last ChanceIn our New WorldUnder a Different SkyKeith Frantz, 92111A Country of UncertaintyEerie twilightwhere are wea river roars through a red-rocked gullyand all I know is the road ahead blocked bya mass of water that heaves and bellowscarrying boulders, trees, cars that ventured toonear40
I refuse to try its depthsI carry passengersin my carI am responsiblethough I don’t know themWhat should I dogo around this obstaclea path of 500 miles or morethrough treacherousmountainsand desertsWill the skies again unleash floodsthat tear away the roads beneath our slender tiresthis car feels unfamiliarwill there be enoughgasfoodhow will I keep everyone safeI slip out of the carsquat in the red dirthug my knees tightstare at the roiling water I don’t dare enterit’s powerwill sweep us away like the hollowed out rockssurrounding usI am traveling in a land cratered by uncertaintywill the waterrecede in timewill we be weeping at thisshore when daylightcracks the darkwatching the sky for thundercloudsto return with floods that obliterateor willthe storm decideto abatea gold disc shine throughthe road ahead become dry and clear and stableand we canjourney out of this wildernessonce againtogetherAnnette Friend, 9201441
Leeching Dreammy Love comesto me in the nightwhisper soft touchgrazing thigh and hiphoney-kissed breath ticklingdown from breast to belly to anklewarm waves of pleasure surging, mountinglayer upon layer of sweet pressure buildingcresting, I reach out for the promise of reliefThe Parasiteawakens in the nightsharp jabs and nipsaching thigh and hipsfetid-short breathsswelling breast, belly, anklehot waves lashing and bitinglayering on pressure, stingingcresting, I reach out for the promise of relieflonging for whenI can dream againJennifer Ruth Frohlich, 9206442
MarkingI think the last things Dad really saw beforeglaucoma took his sight were swastikas graffitiedon his driveway, asshole Jew keyed into his car,and I remember when I thought it could not happenin the United States, when I saw a swastika on abuilding in Pecs, Hungary, and I asked Dietmar ifthey even had Jews there—if any had survived —hejust shrugged, and then I remember that I readsomewhere that Polish people used to go toAuschwitz for picnics after the war, and when theywere done eating, they would fold up the red andwhite blanket and they would go hunting for Jewgold, they would dig into the loam of the greenfields, hoping to find buried treasure—someYiddish-speaking Jew, maybe my cousin Art Friedel,wanted to use it for a bribe for another daygranted alive, for an extra piece of moldy bread,and I was 24—3 years away from being brain-damagedby a stroke, and why did I even go there? I supposeI wanted to hear the ghosts, I could have goneanywhere—I had a Europass and time abroad affordedme by a cast that doctors in Hungary had put on myleg. They just started heating up dressings--I didnot speak Hungarian, they did not speak English—itwas not so long ago that Hungary had been a part ofthe Soviet Union, and they only taught Russian inschools—my right leg was so badly swollen that myankle looked like elephant shin, and I could not goback, like the ticket said I was going to go, fromFrankfurt, because I was in Budapest, andincapacitated and this pervy older guy said that hehad never “done” anyone in a cast before, and I hada dream one time when I was nine that the Nazis43
were going to find us--we were hiding from them ina cupboard, and they found us and threw us into aprison cell below the ground, and we were alllooking up at them, with our white hands on thebars—and all I saw were a pair of jack bootskicking mud into our face and knowing, KNOWING thatwe were all going to die. I was the director ofthat dream, and all cameras focus
while hanging out with Lord Byron a couple hundred years ago, dreamed of creating a laboratory monster and that’s been good for her. Robert Louis Stevenson dreamed up Jekyll and Hyde and E.B. White took twenty years to develop his dream of a talking mouse i
