Pointing Home
Mark
Cormier
Copyright 2011 Mark Cormier
Smashwords
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Fish in Iraq
Fish behind a vehicle's wheel
the
glove box unlocked
the map missing insides
Iraq, a hot dusty
sea
We're fish in a barrel
dodging gunshots from behind
concrete walls
our gills huffing puffs of blistering air
as a
ragged road bumps
under an aquarium sky that's empty as sin
cloud
puffs too scared to come out.
We're gruff guns at the
checkpoint
our mission stiff, we're checking a trunk
to find
Jesus cramped up inside
a merciful bird, he straps us
to the
bones of his kite
and flies us to Heaven
in a big flash of
light
even the echo is bright.
This god comes bearing
gifts
that god grants every boon
another strides in with a bomb
in her holster
and a grin empty like sin
But the best god
of all shows me more than her teeth
as she grips the back of my
head
so her hips don't writhe off her bed.
I'm grinding my
teeth
we're both grinding to win
the white pill that's hidden
under the pillow.
Her legs, white like the pill of the moon
That
lascivious orb leers in through the window
a black veil on the
floor along with black nylons
this god grants me more time than I
paid for
she treats a soldier right.
Fish in the front
seat, fish in the back seat
shades draped over our eyes
we
wiggle our radio knobs
tuning in transmissions from the Galilee
Sea
our gills choked with thousand day dust
charred metal bones
along the roadside
all without any rust.
Helmets blown off
of heads
boots blasted off feet
not enough flesh left to scoop
up
without admitting defeat.
Some fish die with plenty of
coins in their pockets
and most winners quit before their wheel
stops
but the fish who hangs on to the tiller with all of
its
might is sure to find all of its bones.
This god rises
in the morning
that god calls from a tower
another is ash on an
altar
but the best god of all descends with a wink
and a
sigh
as she wiggles her fins
in a sexy goodbye
her bath
towel slips
and she slides into a splinter of sparks.
I
can’t speak without wincing
I’m grinding my teeth
I hear
nothing but echo.
Fish strapped to the bones of a kite
with
a remote control box
and a dynamite tail
so pretty these
ribbons of fire.
Fish not sure where to
lie down to sleep
but I can be sure that wherever they
lay
there’ll be a big flash of light and an echo louder
than
a paper party sack popped
death crashes the party
blowing a
candy cane horn
announcing the people's choice for a
people.
Bodies aloft on fragments of notes
a scatter of
dots
but none of the dots add up to a whole
people aren’t
interchangeable parts.
The remote control drone finds its way
home
and the wedding guests lose all of their clothes
lose all
of their clothes.
I can’t find my glasses
shards of glass
on the floor|
my fingers are bleeding
my face is
bleeding
concrete walls, cracking and crumbling
the roof is
falling in chunks.
Jesus never learned how to dive off a
springboard
into a cool chlorinated pool
and Allah would never
eat Spam from a can
but the Buddha hears the bright echo and
covers his
ears with a grin
empty like sin
aluminum prayers
rattle out from a slot
and shudder in a vending machine’s hard
plastic
gutter.
Fish are dogs with dog tags
Fish are
dogs without stars or bars
snarls melt as we flop in the heat
fish
are dogs throwing rocks
at us in our unbuttoned
camouflage.
Prayers are best left on the shelf of the PX
or
in the souk on a felt covered table
or best left forever unopened
in cans
with nutritional labels
but the one prayer I chuck in
my cart
without needing a coupon
growls that she loves me again
and again
and then proves it to me in a thousand and one
nights
she's cheap and usually free
I scratch at her door and
straighten my helmet.
She scoops up Iraq's stars
in a pink
plastic bucket
and shapes Iraq's sand into a pretty sky
castle
that the rising pink tide seeks to erode.
I could
have sat on the couch unemployed
I could have surfed transmissions
all day
with a remote control box and bottles of beer
but I
hitched a ride overseas with my Uncle Sam
and rattle my bones in
the aluminum cup that he
issued.
Rattle my bones in his
aluminum cup
until I roll the twin dots of the snake
or
parallel pallbearer rows
and know that I'm finally flying back
home.
Most of my parts carefully packed into
a cardboard
box that he issued
my dog tag that he issued tucked into my
palm
my hand barely strapped to my arm
both found in a
ditch.
The Iraqi heat, painfully bright and nobody’s
father
My plane ride is free
even the layover in Europe
I
don't need a seat
I ask for a prayer with plenty of ice
the
prayer is shaken not stirred
shards in my glass.
|I'm a
gruff gun at the checkpoint.
I carefully check the well of a
wheel
its Jesus cramped up inside
he straps me with love
to
the bones of his kite
for a joy ride to his aquarium throne.
But
the Iraqi wind’s fickle
and I squat in the sun
until my
throat parches
and then I poke in the sand for a pearl.
I
once knew a god named Diana
I once knew another god too
her
name was Sue
but the best God I ever did know
I can't remember
her name.
But her fish is as big as the Galilee Sea
and
she's always wet
and never too shy to pray.
No bombs in her
holsters
no helmets on heads without bodies
or boots blasted
off feet.
Let us forget prayers to this god or that
and let
us scoop up another helping of turkey and
gravy and raise a cup to
whomever we please
without getting shot or made dead
on our
feet, our bottoms or knees.
It was a church, a temple, or
mosque
I can’t quite remember
it might have even been a beer
garden
littered with hops
it was a place that a reflecting pool
graced.
She buttressed her bottom
against the stone base of
a Buddha
her eyes looked hooded like his
but hers signaled:
"All Clear."
And the hymn that we belted
strapped
to the bones of her kite
we flew up to Heaven together
clutching,
gasping and with much holding on
and a big flash of light
and
the bright echo
was that of Creation
we rattled the stars.
And
the splay of her hair
on the flesh of my chest
a pretty mosaic
on the floor of a mosque
she smelled sweeter than sin
as I slid
my bomb in.
And the touch of her skin
and her lips slightly
parted
and the holes of her ears
and the thrust of her chest
as
I squeezed water from sand
her sleeping head
my breath
blistered her sheets.
Fish in Iraq
Caked with thousand and
one day dust
I park on my cot
too heated for even a sheet.
I
bow my head
as I scratch the usual parts
and strain to remember
her name.
My canteen, all empty
my ammo, all shot
my
pack, too heavy to carry.
Fish in Iraq
Fish in Iraq
Plenty
of sand for free.
I can’t win without losing my tail
I
can't win without losing my head
the coin in my pocket, pocked.
I
can’t swim anymore
I can't fly without wings
I’m missing my
fins
and my arms and legs seem to be elsewhere
I'm waiting for
orders.
Haikums
This poem is a seed
I
must get up to sprout it
your kiss delays me.
Your heart
butters flesh
let us touch, then hug, then kiss
until this
dawn's long gone.
Our love, our shared hull
our sheets,
cool cloth that wends us
towards flesh and shore.
For
years, I pretended
that you were somebody else
and then I found
out that you were.
This life is no more
no less. It’s
what I’ve chosen
looking back looking.
For too many
years
I was with her whenever
I lay down with you.
Me
looking at you
you looking at me, your eyes,
are we to be
one?
I dowse for sweet love
I strike sweat, its banks, your
thighs
Eyes closed, me slather.
Titillating wet
I slip
from within you, you’re
not counting, me too.
Sonoma
Haiku
Fluttering leaf flits
a spindle, its stem,
“hello”
lizard darts, rock to rock.