Tuesday, November 4, 2008

my grandmother's mirror

i have a large, old wall mirror that belonged
to grandmother
but i can't bring myself to hang it
it has a fancy carved, dark wooden frame
she hung it over an old dresser in her apartment
in brooklyn
i remember on the last day of every december
she'd write 'happy new year' on it
in some kind of white foam
this old glass that my grandmother,
once a flapper in the 1920's,
used to stare into as her arms scissored
over her head & she let her fringed dress drop
over her shoulders & settle on her young frame
same glass she gazed into as smoke from the ashtray
resting on the dresser curled up past her newlywed
same glass she gazed into as she learned her husband
was married to two different women at once
same glass she gazed into as she got ready
to go to reno, nevada, only place that
granted divorces in the 1930's
same glass she stared into after returning from
her nervous breakdown
same glass she gazed into as she finally broke the news
to herself that she really had cancer
same glass she gazed into adjusting her fake breast
in her brassiere
same glass she gazed into as the cancer metastasized
same glass she gazed into at the large zigzag scars
across her belly
no i can't bring myself to hang this beautiful unbroken
mirror full of ugly luck

no myth

adam & his rib
is pure bullshit

but hubert selby jr.
w/his t.b. & his
collapsed lung
& the doctors
sawing out 10
of his ribs

& then selby
getting addicted
to morphine
& then heroin
for 27 years

& then vomiting out
'requiem for a dream'
in 6 weeks

his battered lung-bags
over the typewriter

giving away
his demons

now that's a man
for you
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.