December 2003 | back-issues, Kelley Jean White, poetry
You have left your hat, but I do not trust it.
Maybe the sky should be stormier, its color the color
of my hair. There is a door. There is a doorbell. You
don’t ring it. I could not lock the door against you
but I have let you hold a key. Perhaps there could be shaking
at the foundations. Perhaps some plaster could fall.
The windows are stuck but I have not locked them.
I pulled the shades down but they are broken and torn. I have
cut the phone wires to your house now. I saw you push
them back through the wall. I have turned to sleep
but I hear you pounding. There is lightning. It was thunder.
That is all.
October 2003 | back-issues, Kelley Jean White, poetry
Midge
show me the one that leaps
that spirals
that plummets
that rises
remains
is lost
is gone
Midge
show me the one that leaps
that spirals
that plummets
that rises
remains
is lost
is gone
Midge
show me the one that leaps
that spirals
that plummets
that rises
remains
is lost
is gone
Midge
show me the one that leaps
that spirals
that plummets
that rises
remains
is lost
is gone
Midge
show me the one that leaps
that spirals
that plummets
that rises
remains
is lost
is gone
August 2003 | back-issues, Kelley Jean White, poetry
to peel an orange in one continuous spiral
one perfect careful stripe of orange with just a fingernail
and thumb, lay the sweet fragrance onto hands
and into the room, put the fruit
one segment at a time
into your mouth, then rewind the peel
into a perfect globe, each edge remet and fit
to its brother whole, hollow, yes, emptied, but perfect still
August 2003 | back-issues, Kelley Jean White, poetry
Handmade
Golden light on a square
of overgrown grass and dandelions.
I pull the shade.
Yesterday
in the damp night
I shattered
china
on the porches
on the walkways
on the railings
on the doorways
on the thresholds
Since I could not speak
I wanted to bleed.
Now that you
have taken away
the key
I hate locks.
Breaking and entering
I have broken
my own hands.
(Handmade
Golden light on a square
of overgrown grass and dandelions.
I pull the shade.
Yesterday
in the damp night
I shattered
china
on the porches
on the walkways
on the railings
on the doorways
on the thresholds
Since I could not speak
I wanted to bleed.
Now that you
have taken away
the key
I hate locks.
Breaking and entering
I have broken
my own hands.
August 2003 | back-issues, Kelley Jean White, poetry
Brickhouse Blues
See these men out shooting craps
up against the brickhouse wall,
these men all shooting craps
up against that brickhouse wall,
hear them dice click on the pavement,
see them dollars fall.
Here come this little man
bouncing his basketball,
along come a little man,
bouncing a basketball,
hair all done up in plaits,
don’t hear his Mama call.
See him fanning out his hand,
see eleven-twelve dollar bill,
he be fanning out his hand,
got eleven-twelve dollar bill,
lays ’em on the sidewalk
and that grifter start to shill.
If I had me a dime
I wouldn’t play you wicked game,
no, not even a dime,
I wouldn’t play that wicked game,
I’d hold up my head,
walk right by you all the same.
Woman walk by
she got two big mean-eyed dogs,
woman walking by,
with those two big mean-eyed dogs,
they go snarling at those mens,
all those useless little dogs.
May 2002 | back-issues, Kelley Jean White, poetry
What do you eat when
you’re not in love?
stones
river mud
salted straw
still I don’t grow
lean
Stacked
I have a deck
and every card
is the Queen
of Hearts. I deal
my own hand
on the bedspread
solitaire
every face up
card is her
and every back
your hair.
Cybernetic Reification
control through feedback
-your mother-
turn into a thing
spittoon crankcase bag jug
overshoot and undershoot
bitchgoddess pantywaist
give it a name whore
A “use of force” incident
S. told the guard she had been hit with a chair.
(A woman would be a victim of rape…)
The guard returned to the topic at hand.
(if she had sexual intercourse with a person
who was not her spouse…) “He had me down
on my left side, bent over.” (by force;
or by threat of force…) His rings cut S.’s face
and blood spurted (that would prevent resistance
by a person of reasonable resolution…) onto
the floor (or when she was unconscious;…)
and table; S. had a history of ‘fast racing thoughts
and trouble sleeping.’ “She was a very quiet
person. When you used to give her things,
she used to clap her hands, like a little child.”
(or if she was so mentally ill and/or incompetent…)
The next morning the floor was still wet
with S.’s blood (that she was not capable
of consent.) when prisoners cleaned the day room.
Beat
I must see three battered children
newly placed in foster care.
One is scarred.
The others’ wounds
internal.
Not seen but
bona fide.
How much can be
concealed.
Brittle
angels in the mirror
looking at me
angels in the mirror
I can’t see
angels smiling at me
with a laugh
angels glitter at me
breaking glass
look at smoke around me
look wordless
disbelieving angels
look so blessed
seek relief my angels
rose to be
angels in my mirror
laugh with me
angels in my mirror
watching me
angels without voices
breaking free
angels in the ashes
suddenly
glitter little angels
sing to me
glitter little angels
almost done
turn it to the wall
oblivion
put away the pieces
let me be
angels fly around me
set them free
angels left the mirror
just for me
by Kelley White (c) 2002
([email]kelleywhitemd [at] yahoo [dot] com[/email])
