name. date. occupation. a sudden poem
Today I clean the kitchen.
Walk the dog.
Check on my sleeping mom, to see
If she's still breathing.
My Dad kicked that habit two months ago, though he breathes
through his children
as we sleep. We dream and cry. We wake and shower:
I make breakfast. Wash the dishes. My Mom dries.
Today I change the catbox.
Make my bed.
Ignore the broken boxspring.
One year ago today, I walked the red carpet at Cannes.
I was wearing borrowed glory and thirteen dollar shoes.
I still have the shoes. At least that. But: why?
Hard to be famous when you don't know your own name.
Now I know my name. It is not my father's, although
he is still my father, as I am still his life.
It is not my mother's, although I watch her breathing.
My name is nothing: it is a bird who can fly
My name is something: it is who you see me as,
with judgement or with longing. i cant try.
My name is everything so it can stay my secret.
A year ago, i posed for pictures with a man who did not love me.
Tonight I love us freely though both of us have gone.
Today i walked the dog.
Cooked the dinner.
tried to hug my hurting mother free of pain.
today a friend told me the man who did not love me, loves again.
Tonight i can't remember that man's name.
Tomorrow i will clean. And do the laundry. Singing softly.
Tomorrow i will call and try to be here through your pain
Tomorrow i will cook the oysters. While they're still good.
Tomorrow will be pretty much the same.
tomorrow i won't tell you my real name.
Tomorrow I might tell you my real name.
peri lyons annapolis may 19 2011 copyright, dude. word.