English as a Second Language

All my words seem syphoned from books
poems
dreams of cantileavered barns
mashed together
back to back
face to face
infront of behind
languidly lounging
elsewhere
when at midnight
before we sleep
I want to tell you
what malingers
like discontented
quititude in my
less than laborious head.
With this dictionary
that thesaurus
and three foriegn languages
I have yet to
cipher how to explain
what I am
who Ive been.
Scrambled on pages
they look like a codex
for universal peace
love and understanding
if only
I could assign a value to
x to solve the equation.
Each syllable of a word
has a meaning
Each meaning makes a whole meaning
and I try sometimes
to use
un
or dis
mal
like undismal
to say today is happy.
But how can I teach you
to read a language
older than me
buried in my skin
pimordeal
prayers from oceans
in which we no longer swim.
So
instead
I smile
and hope you don't mind
that I am a stranger
sleeping
skin to skin
in your bed.

Chicago-2010

These beautiful people cages
monolithic in proportion
fill my heart with
a dialectic of contraries.
How can something so epic
full fraught with intention
feel empty and lose meaning?
Your music of shuddering
malcontent in traffic
punctuated by sirens
like the sound of
a piccolo in the Magic Flute
tell me this is not my home.
You, Chicago, need good rain
sweet against your window panes
to wash this self loathing
this discolored grime
from your hearts so that
you can smile when a stranger
fresh from nowhere asks
which way or what time is it.
Chicago your stories of snow
so deep my Mother could not
see over its sides as she walked
quietly to St. Mary's to learn
make me ache at your skeletal
remains that I see today.
What happened to you?
Trash rots on your streets
the tagged clothing of
murderers and thieves dresses
your walls, your windows,
your very soul until you decay
behind the vivid hues.
Chicago, oh Chicago
you are not the dream
of my Mother's youth.

This Me without You

Have you ever forgotten what
you were holding?
Keys or a plate your mother loved
only to remember it at the
clutter clash clanging of alarm bells
your hand closed looking for
the memory of the thing
now scattered across the floor.