knife set

Furthest from the  Cinderella night light in my room,

the Samsung flat screen reflecting back an image

from the neck up: I am Ndamukong Suh this time

with sensitivity

resonating the undifferentiated background

of one's awareness. So you say to me,

Not having a lover makes a person a virgin again,

like not having

roaches or light makes you a candidate for replacement

windows. And what about that? Poems might mean

you tell all your business until you take

little pleasure in doing so; until the temple

of leaves that the squirrels make of apple boughs

crash a giant hole in your garage and you swear off

all organized religion. Again. What flicker of

unscrewed bulb Don Fanucci,

what part of my own history is that clear

before my demise> ?  When my daughter was born

from that sack of blood I first counted her fingers

and toes. With the truth secured I became

pleased like my mother who, at Christmas,

checks again the drawer for the knife set my

father pawned in June. As if fingers and toes

only grow as needed.

I know no more mister than the gnat knows;

the ointment the fly calls home.

Reviews

[Beccy]

I had no idea who Ndamukong Suh was and had to use the great god Google to find out; sensitive he certainly was not. :))

The progression from verse to verse is seamless, and I was particularly drawn to verse 5 because I truly, honestly, did precisely that. I counted Charlie's little fingers and toes; for what reason I have no idea; they were so tiny, so perfect, but still I counted them and it made me so foolishly happy to do so.

Loved this.

Beccy.

[h d e rushin]

thank you love for finding an old poem.....It's like finding an old thermostat that took temperatures of a person long deceased lol. Thank you and good morning to you my love.

[A hare off]

I'm not really sure what to say here, that you haven't already said in this wonderfully creative and honest poem. Suh, now that's a name you don't see floating around poetry too much. I like it. This feels like opening someone's closet door and the entire contents crash to the floor around your feet or snooping through their medicine cabinet while at a party at their house, because they asked you to. Dana, this is very thought inducing and the ending, I don't know why but, the mother searching for the knife set that the father hocked, made me feel sad for her. Like looking for a losted loved one you know will never be found, but you keep on looking anyway. Great writing.

[h d e rushin]

I love your words here A hare off..Thank you so much for seeing something that perhaps I
didn't (couldn't)...dana

[Ed Hart]

that's what we do, we confess, in all the flavors of artfuck...some like it close and sticky, others, from distances that read like denial...some of us know what 'way-back-in-the-ally' means, some of us tell tales, some shoot straight and true, some can write around corners...this is what i think, there's a handful here at wc who are fortunate and glad to have found each other, and you are certainly a handful, ed

[h d e rushin]

as the new year approaches Ed, I am honored to write along side of so many wonderful souls..
You especially..thank you my friend....dana

[Lydia Shutter]

WOW...your poetry cuts to the chase of life...the down and dirty. The honest and rawness draws me in between the lines and I feel you empower yourself by writing in this style. Wonderful. Lydi**

[h d e rushin]

thank you my love Lydia....I promise to be softer in the new year....dana

[daninstockholm]

fascinating stuff, raw, honest, true,, i like your style alot!! Will definitely read more!

[h d e rushin]

thank you much danistockholm (love that name) dana

[W.k.kortas]

It took me awhile to process seeing Ndamukong Suh's name a poem; I started thinking about Suh fan fiction, and was transported to a distant place. You have, once again, gone where angels fear to tread (places, for better or worse, that draw poets like flypaper) to muse eloquently and then some about the purpose of poets and their place in the firmament, all while fully cognizant of a certain inadequacy, a certain futility, in such an effort. Such bravery has rarely read this well.

[h d e rushin]

thank you wk....just trying to find my voice again...lost in some devilish, unconventional madness.
dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

geez, maybe we do tell all our business as poets...and the voyeurs watch...and read....

and the gnat knows...that the fly on the wall is silent but watches...love the reference to Suh....such a reputation he has...and as i read this my samsung is in the background with guess what game on? coincidentally...penn st. at mich st.

sometimes we have too many fingers as we grow up...and they get into too many things...but i would rather have a hand in my own life, than not.

always, you get me to thinking about so much...just with one poem.

i have been divorced three times, and yet the times in between start to make me feel like a virgin again...maybe i need to look at that knife set, and borrow one to cut my heart out.

j.

[h d e rushin]

thank you dear Jacob for that insight my friend.....Three times? No wonder your a master of
love poems....lol,,,,dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

more like a master of messing it up...:)))

[ANTO]

"Like not having roaches..." - enough said Dana. Your quill is sharp as the set of tools in the title.
This is a terrific meal of imagery and pondering and nostalgia.
I missed reading you and its my own fault. :)

[h d e rushin]

thank you dear brother....I am finding my way back to writing on this site..There's been quite
a bit of ugliness around here as you know. But I still love the sound and smells......dana