MAP
#72
Theme:
Siblings
1.
Our bud Jimmy Smith from So. Cal. sent this offering:
My
brother The Mystery Marine
At
first I only heard the stories
He
was gone then
Seventeen
and killing Koreans
Home
on leave he slept
All
day and I watched him
Strong
silent,
a
budding gambler
With
no feel for the truth
Of
the dice
We
went to the track once
When
I was six and
Had
wings for ears
My
twenty turned into
Two
hundred
Just
pointing to the number
In
the sheet
My
two hundred turned into
Six
hundred
Bought
me a new suit
and
a Chicago gangster
Fedora
The
picture we took together
Has
me well dressed and small
Him
penniless and forlorn
But
large
Then
he killed time
Killed
Vietnamese
Killed
his soul
Patience
and
tolerance
Now
he sits at home with
His
medals and haircut
And
I write words of hope
For
tomorrow's children
Somehow
I feel
that
I am the true
Warrior
©
1999 Jimmy Smith
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2.
From Kathy Coleman in Oklahoma:
As
a child
I
hated you
the
unassailable rival
for
love's attention
cuter,
smaller
softer,
smarter
a
pleaser
(who
knew how)
while
I,
trapped
in my own prisons
of
awkward solitary sadness
could
not find the keys
We
have struggled each
not
with each other
but
with life's inevitable
unforeseen
turns
and
grown
...become
most
dear
to
me
you
are
a
comfort sure and deep
closeness
distance
cannot dull
Shall
we write?
that
book of poems
ours
someday
©
1999 Kathy Coleman
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3.
Jimmy Jazz, from San Diego, writes about his mother's brother.
My
Uncle Mike Shurtleff
The
hippie with long red hair in a fading photograph named
his
dog after jethro tull
My
uncle, the practical joker balanced
bowling
balls on the door to drop on his brothers
My
uncle, taught me to throw a spiral forward pass stretching
my
first grader fingers across the laces
My
uncle, took me to knott’s berry farm offering
a
hit of marijuana before the roller coaster
didn’t
push it when I said “no thanks”
My
uncle, hitting home runs at the family picnic,
fourth
of july
My
uncle, the father of cousins I rarely see;
the
youngest brother to my mother
My
uncle, the user
got
his jaw broke after burning
the
hell’s angels on a speed deal
My
uncle, the “cat burglar” of ocean beach took
my
ten year old cousin to rob a trailer counseling
“You
can take just one thing”
My
uncle, in jail
My
uncle, the family rumor
My
uncle, who after massive heart attack still
climbed
the highest rock in the mountains
My
uncle, whose unexpected presence at X-mas, sent
my
aunt mary into convulsive tears of joy
My
uncle, the dumpster diver found
a
gold necklace for his girl
and
got himself a 3-piece suit at the thrift store
(the
vest too small and the pants good for high water)
My
uncle, who believed in angels
lives
with them
©
1998 Jimmy Jazz
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4.
And from Jean Russell of Virginia:
THE
GATES CLOSE AT DUSK
No
one knows what goes on here after dark,
in
this field of white stones.
Their
marble glows, lit by the moon.
Names
and dates fly at me like white neon
and
each stone has its story.
The
trees wave and moan
and
beg the wind not to tell me the stories -
the
ones I'm not supposed to hear.
The
moon compelled me to come here tonight
and
sit among these engraved names
of
people I never knew, except you.
Someone
has hung a windchime from this tree -
some
desolate husband who remembered his wife
would
always fall asleep when there was music playing.
I
lean against this tree listening to the windchime,
remembering
when you were two and I was ten.
The
moon knows what I'm thinking.
She
looks away and seems to cry.
She
used to have a brother, too.
©
Jean Russell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~