My Three Poems for Huntingdon Valley Library Poetry Night - Altered State - Evergreen Shampoo - Lawn Party

ALTERED STATE

Me, one of the millions

who have diabetes. Not grossly

overweight, not a junk food

addict, my antirejection

meds gave me the disease.

Diabetes rules my life, I told

my sister, who can eat anything

she likes, grilled cheese

sandwiches on rye and Archway

cookies straight from the box.

She has no idea what happens

to me in the dead of night

when I awake and am “low.”

The “low” killed Bobby’s roommate

found face-down on the floor,

a promising pharmacist, like Bobby

himself.

With the purple light of dawn

filtering through my drapes

I arise like Lazarus from what

might be my tomb, pause a

moment, and close my eyes.

Something is wrong.

Very very wrong.

Aha! I am low and bound

down the stairs in my

pre-owned striped pajamas

that make me feel like George

Elliot. If only I could wear them

to the Vietnamese restaurant.

Switching on the kitchen light

the room vibrates

boink boink boink!

as I reach for the foods

that will save me.

I rip open a new bag of

pretzels, flood them into

my mouth, then get some

chocolate raspberry yogurt

from the fridge, dripping it

onto my PJs.

My sugar level is 35. Normal

is 80 to 120. I step onto

the front porch in my pink

diabetes socks, then run

down the sidewalk to

look up at the stars.

Jupiter, I wave, with its

many moons. I am

saved. I am saved.

Lying in bed, body

heaving, I think

this must be like

taking drugs. Cocaine

where they

get the bloody noses.

Hands on chest, I am

rocked to sleep by

Charlie Rose humming

in the distance. 

***

Hurry Perseus, I'm frightened!

EVERGREEN SHAMPOO

The tiny transparent bottle I stole

from LaQuinta Hotel in

New Orleans, resembles a

lipstick container or

a coffin. I husband the

remaining sweet-smelling

drops I rub through my

silver hair, never believing

I would get this old. Rubbing

my skull, I remember my

week in The Big Easy. As long

as I have the shampoo, I will

still be in New Orleans.

Ever eaten Shrimp Po-Boys

at the Commerce Deli? Bread

that crackled like a mouthful

of diamonds, and succulent

shrimp who gave their lives

for us.

Most of all I’ll remember the

bus ride. Legs

dangling as helplessly as

Andromeda tied to

the rock. Where was Perseus?

The god was in my suite

on the fifth floor.

Listening to the patter

of the rain on the roof,

I massaged my ankles,

swollen as the Crawfish

Sandwich I ate at the

park, staring at

St. Patrick’s Cathedral,

and wishing I could

ask Jesus for help.

***

 

LAWN PARTY

The Queen of England

dressed in yellow, is

hosting a lawn party

and so shall I.

Please be my guest.

Out come the picnic tables

spread with tiny cucumber

sandwiches, on whole wheat

toast. The lone maple tree

nods in approval.

What’s a spring party

without lemonade? I’ll

serve it in my pink pitcher

Mom gave me, though at

ninety-two she would

no longer remember.

You’ll meet my mom

along with a dozen guests.

Beethoven will be there

with his wild eyes and

white poodle hair. A silver

ear trumpet will rest on

his table. I do hope he likes coffee,

the Vanilla-Hazelnut

I drank earlier today.

I’ve always admired the

poet Rilke. He’ll sit over

by the forsythia bush,

spiking toward the sky.

I’ll only invite one dead

boyfriend. Not Simon

The Hoarder, but

Christopher. He’ll drive up

in his Mazda truck, brimming

with laughter in his plaid shirt

and faded blue jeans.

You thought I’d forgotten you,

I’ll say, though you left me for

another.

I’ll stand atop a table and

recite through a megaphone:

We’re having a party of the world.

And the bluejays and cardinals, the

tiny little sparrows, will twitter

in approval as they

soar across the yard,

pooping as they go.