Miles Davis Knows

Miles Davis Knows

The universe exists
in silent pause

before the solo kicks in

Van Houten & Cianci Street, 1943

A quartet plays
in the gazebo
at the center of Paterson
Tri-color bunting and streamers
line the roof and banisters
more on the red brick windows
black and white couples
dance in the street and square
kicking sideways at each other
mouths open in a song or yell
Statesmen stand around a plaque
smiles with suits and cigars
like a card game without a table
Townsfolk in simple clothing
stand at the curb
eating over-wrapped hot dogs
their children look up
anchored to balloons
the clarinet player in mid-solo
leaning back to bring the horn
up to the microphone
the drummers arms and cymbals
invisible from the beat
The sax players face
a smudge under a hat
the balding bass man
takes up half the stage
looks down through sunglasses
surprised at what he is doing
all of the colors and sounds lost
leaving only a second
found in a faded print.

The Park-Side Parrot Inn

The Park-side Parrot Inn
           Portland, ME

The spiraling stairway
mahogany handrail
gently turned pillars
steps worn to
high contrast grain lines
like a comb passed over wet hair
Light through dusty window
that watch the harbor grow

All of this was my subject
an attempt to photograph.
What developed was over-exposed

I hear your footsteps
as I check us out
I don’t want to go home.

Wiping a Fogged Mirror

When I took your photo

it was not to use against you

nothing erotic
nor devious

It was to hold onto how you looked

skin still humid from your shower

hair up in a towel

threadbare robe snug to your body

Where all you felt was refreshed

free of any bit of dirt you ever carried

of every lie ever told
clear of any mascara you thought needed

where it was finally just
your eyes

honest, innocent

and looking at me.

Nana’s Gift

For ages, the spirits of artists
have been filling heaven.
enhancing the gallery of clouds
filling the closet of colors, ideas and brush-strokes.
Even working with light in northern evenings.

The conventional white and blue, still popular,
images of random objects, animals, faces of lovers;
within the white and gray.

Sometimes they give us a blue canvas
with small faded clouds, far away,
like missed chalk-marks on a lazily cleaned board.
Other days, they overdo themselves,
leaving us to guess the colors we would see.
The sun blocked by a pile of afghans.

Today, the sky is a gift
from my grandmother
whispering to the spirits
“Try to add green, he loves green
and layer it, he bores easily”

The Rolling Rain

Rain on the rooftop out of our window,
the distant sound of applause, or gasps.

We sit dividing our belongings
the paintings yours
the candles mine
my bookshelf that held
some of your books

Mixed in with the thunder
the crack of the wood
Wind knocking a tree limb
onto the neighbor’s garage

You told me how I needed to learn
how to appreciate things in life more
that you were taken for granted.

On our air conditioner and windows,
the frantic sounds of rain jazz.
Untouched cigarettes burn as I sip tea
you drink water

Silent together in a half empty kitchen.
The storm door breaks off its hinges
shattering into a puddle in the backyard.

I turned off the final light as I left.

A Letter to My Eventual Child

I have done enough hating for the both of us
Criticized the way anthills are made
How there never is enough time to do things the right way

Have commented on people’s clothes
the way they walk in them
thinking my style and posture
was a reflection of a god

I have lost my temper and yelled
at an inanimate object
threatening it with kicks and curses
I have believed everything bad in the world has happened to me
That nothing can go right
if I am associated with it

I have thought it was the end of the world
to not be happy with my father
Ignoring that he is human and capable of error
I have found excuses for why
I never thanked my mother enough instead

Losing the one I love because
I complained about the song
Instead of dancing with her
A negative side to everything bad
and most things good

I am over it now
I have gotten all of this hating out of the way
So when you are born
and we are together
You will be a better person
than me

Do You Remember the Face Before You Were Born?

I had a dream, before I was born, of a face; the face of love and trust. I saw our lives, both apart and together; it was great and smelled like summer.

She took steps to understand me. She asked questions, and never expected. I felt safe with her, in her arms; she smelled like musk and tea tree.

I try to see the face now, I close my eyes, and although I can sense her,
even remember the touch I have never felt; I cannot see her face in my mind.

I know she exists here, she told me she would find me, if only for a moment.
I imagine how I will find her, where we will meet. I have often thought it would be shopping, for food or books.

I recall being in those places, suddenly feeling like I was being watched. I would look up and see someone walking away from me. As if, she might have just turned around. I wondered if she might be her.

There have been a few times; I was even convinced I found her. I would look into the eyes of my lover, in bed, or walking in sunlight. Trying to see if she would remember what she might have promised me before we were born. One thing was always missing; the touch, or the questions, or the smell.

I cannot imagine her face, and do not yet know her name. I am not even sure if it was just a dream. Nevertheless, I will continue on, walk with my head high.
Peeking around corners; not really looking so much as being aware, and hoping.

In The Basement Apartment

Mom appears through the apartment door
holding her nose crying
blood dripping down her waitress white shirt
the baby-sitter gets her ice
a towel for the bleeding
she is cursing and crying
I hear the rumble of my fathers' Malibu outside
the baby-sitter helps her take her coat off
What happened Mommy, did Daddy hit you?
the engine's fumes billow into the window
noise and smells adding to the confusion
Mom pays the baby-sitter from her black apron
food stains wet from ice and blood
she says she got mugged
If you got mugged Mommy, call the police
I hear my father pull away
Mom tells the baby-sitter she could go
sits down on the couch
I crawl up on her lap
pull back her hair
wet with tears and sweat
Don't worry Mommy, I'll protect you

In My Living Room

You asked me
to pluck your eyebrows
and I did.
I held you face and neck in my hands
Our legs overlapped one another.

Your hair over the back of my hand,
neck stretched and relaxing with your breath;
I was worried about hiding
my shaking hands.
I could feel your breath on my face.
and I was scared.

Your eyes closed in trust,
head tilted back, neck exposed.
Waiting for each little tinge of pain
as hair slightly lifts skin
and releases.

You opened your eyes|
looked into mine.
I tried to tell your eyes
with my eyes,
That I wanted to hold you closer.
They didn’t answer

Hairs all over my shirt and skin.
I wished to have us hold each other
until every hair had re-grown
until what was plucked away
grew back.

Vignettes from an Old Movie

It was like vignettes from a movie
The way that morning was to me
flowing from dreaming to awake and back

I wake to feel you next to me
the night was cool and quiet
I could hear you breathing and move
putting my arm around you, afraid you might wake up

Awake again, you were in the shower
a feeling of comfort came over me
I was going to join you, but remembered
we are not like that, anymore

Then I woke up to the hair dryer
I wanted to get up and see you
watch you get ready for work
the monotone sounds droned me back to sleep

Then I woke up to warmth
of your face near mine
your scent came close to me
‘lock the door on your way out’
and I felt lips kiss my forehead

at that moment
I thought you might still love me

The next time I woke up
it was to your door closing
I heard your cat crying good bye
as you went downstairs
closing the door to get outside

I went to the window
to watch you get in your car
thought of the dinner we made
f how I massaged you and held you
of that moment with you over me
not knowing where the dreams started

Forgive Me

Last night, I was petting the cats
feeding the young one spinach
and your bed spoke to me
it asked me to lay down
and I did

I didn't mean to undo your bed making
but it was so inviting
pleading to me
and the smell of you
made it so comforting

The ghost must have know I was there
cause while I was sleeping
I thought I felt a head resting on my shoulder.
It was the best sleep I have had for a while
Then I went to hold you closer..

When you were not there
I woke up
a dark grey sky
peeked through the slants of blinds
and the room was cold.

17.4.03

By the time I was born
he had been playing music for forty years
So why, at the age of seventy
he still felt the need to practice was beyond me
but now with him gone for only ten days
I am thankful for hearing those never ending ups and down
The Soundtrack To My Childhood.

His full head of salt and pepper hair
with brave sideburns
the clarinet sticking out from the cheeks
between the chops
slight head tilt, back and forth
left and right
keeping rhythm with the lifting and falling notes

He would play songs too
being so young i didn't know
Mack the Knife or
Strutting With Some Barbeque
All I knew then was The Muppet Show
All I remember are the graceful steps
From low B to High C then Low A to High B
Maybe he was telling me
that life has it's ups and downs, high and lows

Ten days ago
his family surrounding him
sharing memories and talking to him
half conscious but foot still tapping
arthritic fingers still playing notes with
The Joe Mooney Quartet on the CD player
He finally perfected the simultaneous High and Low A's
The highest and lowest he could get

As I held his hand
he took his last breath
let all of his pain win
But lost all of his pain, forever.

Arbor

It has always
made me happy to see
the outward arms of
the silhouette of trees

Rewritten History Books

My Grandfather fought for a country
getting through every theater of war twice.

I used to lie in bed hearing his stories
of a battlefield worldwide.
He told us of a people united;
covering each other with blankets,
sacrificing for the next man,
looking out for neighbor’s children.

I dream of visiting this land of stories
but the road to that place is lost
hidden under graveyards,
skyscrapers and newspapers.
At every corner is a liquor store
a post of road signs pointing
in eight separate ways.

I wonder what he thinks as he looks down on us.
The country he helped build while he was alive
faded away while we slept with our TVs on.

Muted

I had woken up in the middle of the night.
we fell asleep with the television on.
I turned on my side
watched you sleeping.

You were on your back,
your head tilted towards me.
Hair falling over the side of your face,
still damp from the shower we shared.

You looked calm in the T.V. light
Eyelids softly rippling from movement.
Your right hand
out from under the blanket
over your heart.

I stared at you,
wondering what mystical lottery
it was that I won,
to be here
sharing this bed with you.
And then your eyes opened;

You looked at me,
said nothing,
but touched my cheek and lips.
While turning on your side
you leaned up and kissed me
and closed your eyes.

In that perfect place
between sleep and reality,
where we are most vulnerable and honest,
You felt it fine to kiss me
and hold my hand.
Since then, I have been trying to get there
and join you.

The Waning New Moon

You roll over and hold her
hair gets in your mouth and nose
licking your lips and softly exhaling
breathe in the scent of exciting danger
you want her closer

She tells you
'I want you to hold me
but my stomach hurts
hold me soft'

You have to hold everything
about her gently
your words, touch, and thoughts

It’s not just her stomach
it’s her skin, hands, head
her eyes, and more so, her ears

Yet, the pain
of biting your tongue
fails in comparison
to her silence.

The Lost Hidden Path, In Awe

We were watching what looked like
two dragonflies mating in flight,
darting back and forth around us.
The sun reflecting rainbows off
algae green hidden waters.
and you were in awe of the brightness
the cobalt blue of a dragonfly in particular.

And I was in awe of you.
You were not self-conscious.
In love with all you saw
the deer, the bugs, the moss, the dirt.
You enveloped yourself in the simple nature,
the complicated beauty of everything.

And the image that holds together my summer
was the sight of your eyes glowing at me
honest and angelic
reflecting back the sun off the pond
showing within them the definition of life and love.
I was amazed that nature found a way
to create the wonderful being that was you.

Grits

For Andrew Fitzgerald

My Grandfather traveled
Around this world twice over
One time with a gun
Both times with a horn
In those times he learned
How bright the sunsets can be
And how death can take the breath
Of a man you bunked with

From Guam and Germany
To New Orleans and Hoboken
Theaters of war
To speakeasies
Sweating, chaotic

Learning how music can be a life in itself
His life married to it
And my loving grandmother
Whose scent of sun lotion kisses
Would follow me
Even after a jump in the pool
I then shivered out
Dripped inside and sat with this gentle man
And shared two things
Never to be forgotten

One learned in his travels
A wonderful bowl of grits
One he always had
Love
The size of the world, twice over

12.11.99 20:53

Within The Silence Your Heartbeat Comes to an Audible Level

Wearing a sky blue shirt and khakis
her ring finger wore no ring
confidence was in her eyes
She told you her name, it did not sink in
you could not recall her speaking
being lost in her green eyes and flowing hair
She must have realized this
she spoke again
leaning over into view of your eyes
Your attempts at being coy and cool were lost
She listened to you stutter
watching your lips and eyes
Her soft laugh made you deaf
the innocent sound echoing
she gently smiled at you
You felt comfortable so quickly
She did not seem to judge you
each moment was a new day
her lead in to the next moment of speech slow
Find yourself imagining futures
a déjà vu or lost dream rediscovered
rewritten with each wave of her hair
You looked around as you spoke
to find someone you knew
a savior from this moment of reckoning
A life rebuilt with each look
from her eyes to yours
tearing down ancient walls and dreams
Your left thumb and forefinger
pinch the back of your right arm
assured yourself you were awake
She felt like home so quickly