Rick Marlatt

PONDERING A STUDENT
OVER CHRISTMAS BREAK

He tries so hard to
be the star on top-
laughing at all their jokes,
smiling at all the teachers.
You wouldn't know by
the way his black hair blazes
above feral-smile eyes that
he lost his brother last year.
His unkempt fingernails
scratch facial hair that's
come too soon when they
should be clenched in Job's
fists. Almost home now and
the lights I was so proud of
last night don't twinkle like
before-I think they could
show a little more life.

FINAL THOUGHTS FROM THE RETIREMENT HOME

Life's been good.
The pain is worse than ever this time-
doctor doesn't know pills from pinecones.
Forgot to shut the damn blinds again.
That son of bitch cheated at pitch again tonight.
I'm going to prove it.
Could've been something I ate.
The thirties and forties were good years-
boy from the plains with eyes of summer.
I wasn't the same after Okinawa.
Never seen the moon so full.
Father, I'm ready for you to take me home,
and I am not afraid.
Will Marcella be waiting for me?
Probably not something I ate.
Still aching for the farm-
the wet smell of alfalfa in the morning.
I should've been home more,
but the children did alright.
Pray that I haven't shamed my father.
Sixties were kids crawling the floor like bugs-
tenure and a bottle of Jack.
My daughter's a failure.
Looking at it all in hindsight now,
it's clear that everything has gone to hell.
The divorce was a mistake.
Never the same after Okinawa
Seventies and eighties didn't make me a man.
Pray that Johnny Jr. makes it home from the war.
Little Nina has mother's eyes.
By God, I did alright by all of you.
The woman in Acapulco was a mistake.
Daddy was a good man.
I'm not afraid of dying.
Missouri rumbled below like a drunk orchestra-
maybe I just should've ended it then.
Nineties were hard on Marcella.
Nina must be six by now, seven?
I hope the children understand.
I smelled spring rain in the west wind when she drove away-
I inherited that wind.
Never been afraid to die.
Life's been good.

I DREAM MOTHER

of how you must've looked-
bronze engraved double-barrel
crouched in bare hands like a cougar
and bare feet the stuff of desert
flat as silence on an old oak porch
when men in grey suits,
Stetson hats and black cadillacs
came for your brothers and sisters-
nine total, all raised by you
after your momma drifted
away on the Mohave sea.
Do you remember, mother,
the little girl you must've been before
the sun tapped against your temple
forcing you into diamond back dance,
morphing you into woman?
You don't know me mother
and that breaks my heart. Your words
like spells rumble earth to your will,
increase the Great Divide between us.
This is how I feel when you ask me,
what do you plan with an mfa?
Tonight I tried to connect with you,
traced a window in the stars for our souls,
still you shattered it, blew glass into my skin
with your lips like solar fans of fire.
I wish like hell that someday
you'll let me kiss you and mean it.

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