Nice things, artfully arranged (2021)
this poem I read starts
that reminds me
as if all poems didn’t start with that premise
anyway
anyway
that reminds me
of a girlfriend I had once
who had this terrifyingly beautiful
almost translucent skin
& who through no one’s fault
would bruise like a peach
always wearing black tights to cover her shins
& thighs as if this clumsiness accidentally knocking
into things was a statement of intent
I was reading this article about flower arrangement
(I know) & the symbolism inherent
like—they’re never just lilies but rather
vectors of condolence
when my Maminka died
my uncle’s friend thoughtfully
sent a bowl of fruit to the wake which made
me laugh because I thought
what could be worse
than crying tears into a fucking
kiwifruit?
if you’d never seen a kiwifruit
you’d think
that’s a pretty shitty kinder surprise
do these trifles exist if I never tell you?
does this kit kat
that I’m eating
on the way home
if I hide the wrapper
in my pocket?
remember me telling you
about Heiko the enthusiastic manager
we had in Germany
pushing us onto the stage in Greifswald?
he said:
don’t forget to tell them how big you are back home!
will this translate?
does it leave a mark?
bruises
I feel are like accidental transfers
temporary tattoos
birthmarks
like unwanted
& permanent ones
drawing our eyes away
like this garnish does from the
inevitable selection of cold meats
at the wake
creating diversions
the way butterflies do
from the fact that they are
really
just moths
I wonder if there’s a job
for someone with a PhD in English
pairing vases with flowers
to accentuate the symbolism?
shedding light on the less obvious
how do I go fitting all this in
one poem?
too many flowers
for this one vase
anyway you can tell I don’t care
about the dishes being clean
it’s just easier than making conversation
with awkward relatives
scrubbing the dishes
& wiping my hands on my good jeans
leaving such a small trace