Palinode 16 (book two)

There is too much sound;

Much sounds like

Commonplace phrasing, and the whining

I do when I don’t get my way.

I left it, angry, not really “at” anymore.

People talk too directly.

How things have escalated,

Arisen of little brandishes—

I have moved my hand dramatically to show you I am raising the bar.

Last night I dreamt of my grandmother

But you were there too

It was—I only remember—the feeling of being under—
                     the feeling of doing for,
                     following instructions,
                     following our routine—

It is safe when you fill both sinks with water, one for washing, one for rinsing.

In comparison to our sink, I think this one makes more sense—
ours stainless and undivided, a common place for a pile-up.

I left it for a pileup. Not angry at, just me in my winter clothes:

I have
two shirts,
two socks,
two hats, for my
two torsos,
two feet—
you get the idea.

There was no secret language, nothing I didn’t understand.

You didn’t brandish the dishes, you stood there and washed them.

I was not looking for symbols, not misunderstanding.

I tossed the mail up the stairs,

Went to the café and signed a petition I didn’t read.

I know, it doesn’t make sense, but it made me feel better—
Not looking at it—
      language, etc
Not trying to read it
      and still
signing on to support some fellow and
his ideas about cleaning up the waterfront or something about
cleaning up the city.

Palinode Project: Book One

I will be posting more poems soon, but in the meantime, chew on this:

I will be releasing a chapbook of the first 15 palinodes. It will be a small release, only about 150 copies and selling for $3 each. I know, I know, it's hard to put a price on something you can get for free on the internet, but there are a few differences. Nicole Donnelly has done lovely cover art for the chapbook and will hopefully continue to work with me more. Also, the chapbook will include a few sparse edits to the original work, making me not cringe as much when I look back on the earlier palinodes. Finally, the books will be hand sewn! Yes, by my very hand! While I'm at work! I'll post more info once the book is all printed and sewn. Keep it real.

hailey

Palinode 15

This is reality reality is

                quotidian

We grow horizontal.
I am sick of it.

I read on the news of natural disasters.
I do not believe they CAN happen.

I had a dream my uncle died in a fishing accident. I think it was the salmon that ate him, I can’t be sure. Someone brought his body to us, and we continued our work day, my family, as we should, working as if it wasn’t there—stiff with rigor mortis, his mouth, almost smiling, baring his teeth, sitting with us during a family staff meeting.

What is safer—

Laundry spinning with soap
I see white when I look through the glass front of the washer

I have tried not to leave angry
I am angry that people are not

unveiled to
one
another

And all the lines of the subway map in Japan—colorful and confusing,
I think they are unrecognizable signs, language,
rails on tracks I can follow,
but can’t tell you,
     where they are going—
Likewise, I cannot tell if that is my blue tee shirt or if that is a pillowcase.

What are we supposed to talk about?
We don’t have anything in common.

I would like to read the characters of this language.
I would like to know if they are symbols,
if I should look for patterns,
or if they are a jumble of strokes—the smallest units, like phonemes, indicators that you are traveling
on the red line, though it
is curvy and swings east before ending west, you can feel sure
that it will not derail, it will not
take you too far out of the way to end up where-ever it is you want to be.

Palinode 14

If a train can derail, unfetter itself, and run elsewhere,
The cluster of it, as feathers, if the whole plumage were to
Explode like a chemical fire in Kentucky, like a copy machine
That works for itself—
If these change course, multiply, fluff up—reddish orange like a chicken back and
Black like smoke,
I can, at least, be sure:
The children are vertical—not leaning away to leave us—
Last night they stayed beside us;
The walls are upright, loyal, not leaving

    as I understood before

    -How we need more children, like baby chickens
    -How we should be sure they are

    comfortable, amused, watching,

not growing
-or-
tuckered out.

Palinode 13

Last night our walls walked away from us.
Believe it, it’s not
an academic thing it—
it just happened
I de-
signed it—
I think
I was
screaming
about the children—how many we have,
how they are problems.

Palinode 12

Your design here:

We are not in a city.
We are not in a row home.

Ours stands alone.
Ours stands alone in a prairie.

Though you imagine the grain swaying--
Though you imagine the walls swaying--
It is only
The grain,
The wind,


      our    walls    stay         put

• mine
    there    windows     in

• &
    are    doorway     the

• his
    four    changing    drawer

• I
    there    fixed        in

• mean
    more    carpet    the
      by      to          cabinet
      the      wood

I design the sky clear.
I invite them in.

“Open the back door and call in the children,” you say.

The sky, nothing is boisterous.

“Baby,” I think, “we don’t have any yet.”

Palinode 11

Admitting the house is not
ours, but that it is watching us,

and we are well aware the sky is boisterous.

Uneven wind

     -Between buildings
     -Between the cracks in the walls
the way small pieces of it,
     blow like a flock
  rest
  then
I claim the righteous
snowflakes and tell them,
assuredly, they are not invited in my house.

They still come. I still let them.

The walls do not leave me.
Like wind, but cold:
  -Bricks with no putty
  -All the tiny creatures that invade that house.

Palinode 10

That
-that you fluff your pillow
-that you open your mouth
If
-if I go to work
-if I stay in the area
You can tell
-I am at work
-I am distracted
-I am a restless ceiling fan
-I am doing the same thing, another time
That
-that the house caught on fire last month
-that it is not the first time
If
-if I can only concentrate on things
-if I stay in the area
-if you remember, will you remind me?

You understand I barter tentatively.
You understand I steal only the deaf night, his banal words.

That the
-the house is our house
-the house will not leave me
-the house has watched me walk to work, as far as he can see

As far as
-the avenue, probably only to the mid-six-hundred block
-the restaurant across the street where I eat pancakes

As far as
you are concerned:
-that you open your mouth to yawn like a hamster
-that you sleep with your head hard in the pillow

That
-it is slowly moving
-it is almost unnoticeable
-it is so much calmer than I am.

Palinode 9:

This poem is addressed
            to you,
Despite things.

It is winter
   now and
today I am
married
to the idea.

I tried to imagine it & it came to me:

      -You are not here, not talking to me.

      -You are at work.

You are
(plus)
at work.

Again:

I wake up &
& it is raining.

In one hour, you will leave the house.
In one hour, I will leave the house.
In one
hour
the house
will leave
me, leave with me--
you are not inside,
not talking, I imagine
you are still
in your spot on
the bed:

      -You flatten your pillow.
      -You sleep with an open mouth.

I am sleepy and you tell me to lie down--
-that you will tuck me in--
-that to listen to me while I’m asleep--
-that married to the idea:
      I will be not waking
      Not rising, as Lisa says, “like science.”