an encounter with the dead man

How it covered his face
grey Brillo Pads
torn open and glued
to his aged skin
a scrubbing beard
shaking to the rhythm
of a dead man’s walk

his tome of poetry
lay motionless, waiting
for pen calloused hands
to crease its spine

Before he could speak
his dead words
I closed my mind
and watched the dead man talk

I felt my mouth
moving to his rhythm
with no control-
I bit down on his dead tongue
and saw his lips yell-
as he flipped the page
I felt my hands
moving to his rhythm
but it was more natural-
I rubbed his dead hands together
and watched his dead skin
fall to the carpet

I was controlling him now
conquering this dead man
I stood up-
his face disappeared-
all I could see
was his dead, empty chest
I sat back down
and stared again
into his dead eyes
and realized
I was looking
at my own dead reflection

Dancing Elephants

The old senile male
sprays torrents of water
like an inner city fire hydrant
as the older girls
link trunks
swinging them high overhead
for the young to graciously leap over

Two large females
and one larger male
expand,
stretching their swollen chests
with Saharan air,
then bellow a chorus
of tribal, trumpeted melodies
for the adults to enjoy

Their moves
elegant and precise
entrance my awkward limbs
and I find myself
clomping along beside them

I forget myself and time
one with these beasts
slamming my heavy feet
shaking the ground-

The trumpets stop
the girls slow their trunks
and all the adults turn and stare
at this odd creature dancing
and disrupting their beautiful rhythm

Misnomer

She dropped her name
gliding onto the 11:00 bus
to San Francisco

I picked it up
wrapped it in bubble tape
and stuffed it inside a manila envelope
addressed to whom it may concern

A month later
leaving through the front door
I brushed something with my left foot-
there it was, sealed shut
with return to sender
stamped hastily on the front
in red ink

I picked up the package
and walked back inside-
forgetting my chores for the day-
and called the San Francisco Post Office

They said it had been delivered
to a small house in Noe Valley
a beautiful young woman
answered the front door-
a lost look behind her yearning eyes

The parcel
sent overnight mail
required a signature-
strangely, she paused
and after several seconds
pen held soft and motionless
she began to cry
and closed the door-
the concerned driver
saved the package
in the back of his truck
with the intent of delivering it again
the next day

At 11:00 the next morning
he pulled in front of her house
and walked up the grey, wooden steps
to her door, knocking twice-
no answer
he knocked three times-
no answer

As he turned to walk back down
the seven steps to the street
he heard a loud crash
from inside the living room

Are you all right
he yelled-
no answer
this time he knocked
the door off of its hinges
clattering to the ground-
his mouth dropping to the brass doorknob

Rigid and alone
lay her young, soft body-
white chalky disks
rolling around her reaching fingers

Clenched in her right hand
was a picture of the girl
and her mother and father-
her face scratched out
with a red pen

Shocked and saddened
he started to turn away
but noticed something was written
on the glossy surface-
he leaned down
barely breathing
and read a loud to himself

What did it say
I asked the woman
we don’t know
she said
he wouldn’t tell anyone

Confused and cold
I hung up the phone
my eyes wandering to the letter opener
on my kitchen counter

Years later
I walk to the back of my closet
And open the old lock box
Inside is the faded, crumpled manila envelope
Still closed tightly

I peel off the clear packaging tape
And unravel the bubble wrap
There it is
Perfect
And glowing

I wish I had sent it
To San Francisco
But I made myself believe
She had died
So I could keep her name
forever