Friday, September 20, 2013

Prepare your heart

They told me to prepare
my heart; so, I bought
a store brand marinade
and 7 bell peppers.

I made an incision just beneath
the ribcage, reached into
my summer garden of a chest
and plucked it like an heirloom tomato.

I set it on the drain board
and covered it with cumin.
I sliced it into 14, quarter inch slices.

I put them in a bowl,
added my father’s Polish herbs
and soaked them in the marinade.

My heart is now in the fridge
beside a jug of milk
a 7 brightly colored peppers.

They told me to prepare my heart
Another, I suppose, will cook it.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Diana Nyad

She drank water no tongue
has touched, above orcas
and eyeless lobsters. She
saw sun sink in water that
was warm then cold, that
opened like a grave, that
spoke secret words of
regret and retreat.  She held
two countries in white
hands.  She pushed and pulled
her way to Florida. Her heart
is full of jellyfish, her skin
a soft legume.  When I am
old and grey and barely
awake.  I hope I have the
strength to say "The sea
waits for me."  I hope I
have the strength to be
blue and bloody, to hold
discouragment by the throat,
to drink redemption like wine.