a form of illiteracy

THE ARTICLE:
"Tel Aviv Protests Show Divide Over Palestinian State"
by Isabel Kershner
April 22, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/22/world/middleeast/22israel.html

THE POEM:
a form of illiteracy

traitors and Jewish Nazis
holding up their heads for
a Palestinian state
in the plot of earth
where Ben G live birthed
Israel
in '48

occupation 9 to 5
occupation that's stolen
lives and homes
constructed then
deconstructed

there are no
new bricks
to build this country
only old ones
with the history of
death and the tiredness
of war to bind them
to one another

a bricklayer is uncertain
if his occupation is his
livelihood or if it
takes his life

in talks
in talks
in talks

the artists
and intellectuals
say give them a state

it will liberate
us both 

decades of words
have been decades
of wordlessness

war is a form of
illiteracy

unconscious foolery

THE ARTICLE:
"Stumbling Into Bad Behavior"
by Max H. Bazerman and Ann E. Tenbrunsel
April 21, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/21/opinion/21bazerman.html

THE POEM:
unconscious foolery

a whistle doesn't blow
round a neck up to itself
in motivated blindness
as the ethics fade into
a confidence in
your own integrity

did you willfully misconduct yourself
against me

or was it just
gross negligence

the terminology is for them

the result is for me

I'm well
now

those nights I
thought about you
at my funeral
or not at my funeral
are fewer
and less frequent

I see people
overlooking as they
innerlook
all the time

permanently swerving into
blind spots to
cripple the
other cars on the road

the biology of
self-interest is
a force I am learning
to navigate

the space between
biology and
conscious
decision-making
is where we could
flourish

so many you s
to get to that
one we

so many rounds of
unconscious
foolery
to figure out
how to be
happy

it's a stumble
over road blocks
and self blocks
you blocks and
me blocks
until whistles will blow
and trumpets will sound
at the sight of
no-more lapses
in ethics just
what's right

increments of three

THE ARTICLE:
"Pentagon Is Quiet on ‘Three Cups of Tea’ Questions"
by Elisabeth Bumiller
April 20, 2011
http://atwar.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/04/20/pentagon-is-quiet-on-three-cups-of-tea-questions

THE POEM:
increments of three

let the poetic record show:

three cups of deceit
don't go down well
without honey
or a fact-checkered
napkin to catch
defensive crumbs

but I sort of kind of two bodies removed know
the man at the
fist of this mess

and I hear he is
an honest and
awesome one

I read that cheerful email
on the arm of a man
bringing a book to life
in bodies at work
bringing
reach out to the locals
from pages to
stages where
children will think
of war and the tea that
turns strangers fighting it
into friends in
increments of three

Oprah drinks tea after dinner
to avoid snacking--it's one of her
diet tricks

in these -stans
Afghani and Paki
tea weighs
much more than
a means to lose

it is a means to
gain the most
desired of intangibles

it turns the unknown into
the known
with humble leaves

it is more than
flavored water

this is no shattered glass
no love and consequences

love does have
consequences
when it's plagiarized
or plastic

but this is not
one of those
tragedies

this is a true story

of yes any press
is good press

but of schools
and the girls
learning in them
where once
their mothers
spoke without
knowing the
shape of their speech
on paper

timing

THE ARTICLE:
"To Tug Hearts, Music First Must Tickle the Neurons"
by Pam Belluck
April 19, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/19/science/19brain.html

THE POEM:
timing

set it up so that
you've been under a cloud
and then you are looking
once again
at the vista and
the whole valley is
drenched in light

notes that bend
the fifth time
in a bizarre
sort of beauty after
four that made you think
you knew what
was coming

mirror neurons
send the sound of empathy
that somehow connects
the things that gravity
can't make see
ear to ear

but the timing of it all

the timing of it all
is where the feeling
of it all
comes from

the timing of it all
is where it gets
its stuff

not in loudness
or softness
but in
whenness
and how often ness

people are not always ready
to hear beautiful things

power

THE ARTICLE:
"Head of Surgeons Group Resigns Over Article Viewed as Offensive to Women"
by Gardiner Harris
April 18, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/18/health/18surgeon.html

THE POEM:
power

switched out my Lexapro
for some old fashioned semen
makes my head feel better
makes the serotoin reuptake take take
me higher

switched out my pills
for some selfish jizz
that wants to keep its options open
likes holes of all sorts and sizes
makes my head ka-boom boom boom
in his room

switched out my feelings for
some unnatural apathy
caring is creepy gets you
fucked in all the wrong ways
at the end of the day

switched out my state of mind
for a state of flux
to match the rattle of the subway
underneath my chair the
state of a cock that doesn't
know what it wants
(except it's not you you you)

when a man cums
he takes power from a woman

her body is no longer her own

when a man comes
he empowers a woman

her body becomes
a destination

the best love isn't
about power

not-yet love is
all too much
so

it's not cheating

THE ARTICLE:
"The Psychology of Cheating"
by Benedict Carey
April 17, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/17/weekinreview/17chump.html

THE POEM:
it's not cheating

a brain that
naturally seeks shortcuts
in a field of home field advantages
for other batters
isn't cheating it's
restoring fairness
because it's
a victim
in a good-soul-gone-wrong-
but-not-egregiously-wrong
kind of way
this paradox is a
collection of corners
to cut
into pieces that will
fine-lly be
distributed equally
the way the pie
wasn't cut into slices
when it was cut into
lottery tickets
priced too high
for a poor man
to buy
so he starts in
small increments
and builds
on himself
to wreckingball
this wreckage of
lopsided cobblers
of cherry or blueberry
it's not cheating it's
a restoration of the
equality of opportunity

two marshmallows tomorrow

THE ARTICLE:
"Too Young for Finance? Think Again"
by Ron Lieber
April 16, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/16/your-money/16money.html

THE POEM:
two marshmallows tomorrow

pretty Penny
saves her pennies
for the things she wants
tomorrow

she knows
the division between
spending sharing and saving
is more than alphabetical

even Elmo
(at a perpetual
three.five)
knows to say no to
mint choco chip
when a stupendous ball
is waiting in the wings

blank slate begging answers for
God and death
jail and fairies
and some things are
too dire to lie to a child about
(like his future
[and what it will cost])

four year old Benjamin says to me
one day I'll be my dad's dad

he is ignorant
of his brilliance

my parents said to me
we are rich
you are poor

in the years when
the country fell apart
Brienza Corp.
got ahead

my father is not ignorant
of his brilliance

he has outlined
their means in green
and runs marathons
within them

when you are a child
raised by products of
the American Dream
it is always
budget season

when you are a child
raised by products of
the American Dream
you know to say no
to one marshmallow today
and to wait for
two marshmallows tomorrow

too many drops

THE ARTICLE:

"Massachusetts: Conviction in Racially Motivated Fire"

by the Associated Press

April 15, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/15/us/15brfs-CONVICTIONIN_BRF.html

 

THE POEM:

too many drops

 

Church of God up in flames

because there's

nothing scarier than a

black man

in a white house

even half of one

is too many drops

for a Massachusetts man

to stomach so he throws up

his hands and reaches for

matches t

hide in hymnals 

God was a

burning bush after all

and this is an act of the God

in which we trust 

 

tread carefully, with a scalpel

THE ARTICLE:
"Obama’s Speech on Reducing the Budget (Text)"
April 14, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/14/us/politics/14obama-text.html

THE POEM:
tread carefully, with a scalpel

I still believe
in the Knicks and
the dollar chant
there but for the
grace of God go I
at the sound of
thirty seconds to
slash
that
score
pull the rug out from
those rugged individuals
people need to get to know
the feel of their own asses
against rock and mud
people don't like to live naked
don't like the waste or abuse
of their bodies in cold air
except when streaking
in New Hampshire
don't like the twelve percent
of their pockets that pay for 
the books
the air
the road
the parks
and is it right for
thirty three old men
to turn out their trousers
to shortstack the taxes
of a young rich one
nah
but
?
two sided
circles
are hard to draw
hard to wrap your
vote around
remember now
debt is a weak defense
a poor man
gets beaten up
a poor country
gets trampled
and a rich man
will give back if
he knows where
to put his hands
but the average American
lives within his means
as well as a three-year old
colors within the lines
circles become
zig zags of
fluid geometry
so
leave your machete
in the shed and
tread carefully,
with a scalpel

around my neck

THE ARTICLE:

"Giving Doctors Orders"

by Mareen Dowd

April 13, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/13/opinion/13dowd.html

THE POEM:

around my neck 

they took out twelve inches

of my insides

I re-learned how to walk

over a Christmas that would be

better than the next

my mother slept in the chair 

my father made everyone

ladymacbeth their hands

he would have made every doctor

disrobe his tie

if he'd known

I don't live under anesthesia

I was given seven steps

to address conflict

on electronic paper

He told me speak up

when something goes down

the wrong pipe

I ladymacbeth my words

until it's too late

I tie ties

around my neck 

then complain

about choking 

A Ghanaian Funeral

THE ARTICLE:
"Dance, Laugh, Drink. Save the Date: It’s a Ghanaian Funeral"
Sam Dolnick
April 12, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/12/nyregion/12funerals.html

THE POEM:
A Ghanaian Funeral

Windows rattle with the upbeat beats of death
Ghanaian-style in an out-Irish display of
cool (and the gang)'s African roots

It's a celebration
of good times
elapsed and
in the now between
grinding bodies
at a funky funeral
to raft a body
across the sea
into its original earth

Why go to a bar
when you can get it here
for free
randoms ask
between
shots and beers

Americans weep at funerals
They wear their grief in black layers
of cotton and lace

Ghanaians wear theirs
on the dance floor
in fuchsia and swag

Americans hold their grief
in their lungs
--a widow has difficulty breathing
afterwards

A Ghanaian widow breathes in time
with the rhythm of the DJ

It has been two months since
and she can now reserve her crying
for her home

Here, it is not in poor taste
to profit from a dead man

My ex-husband's new wife
will plan his funeral

She will oversee the practical joke
and the hymn he requested
and she will enforce the list
of who is not allowed to attend

He will go to his grave
humming his grudges

The Ghanaians have it right

I want my husband to
beatbox my eulogy

If he goes first
I will deliver his
in haiku

Cowboy Poetry

THE ARTICLE:
"For Cowboy Poets, Unwelcome Spotlight in Battle Over Spending"
by Adam Nagourney
April 11, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/11/us/politics/11cowboy.html

THE POEM:
Cowboy Poetry

cowboy poetry say what
say words that rhyme with cactus
and feel smoother than chaps
against coarse cowboy skin

cowboy poetry say what
say beats that cradle a man
riding solo on the prairie
in wintertime

cowboy poetry say what
saysing songs to horses
ditties to cows
tunes that tie rope
'round a man's heart
and lasso him into
the dirt where he
plants more cowboy songs

cowboy poetry say what
say Mister Man's got his
jeans wrangled up into a bunch
because cowboy poets like
to share cowboy poetry
with other cowboy poets
and nothin's free
not even for cowboys

a cowboy poet rodeos his way through life
he makes love to a woman and sleeps with his horses

a cowboy poet doesn't busy himself
with unessential things

keeps it simple
in lines
and stanzas

a cowboy poet does not use
iambic pentameter
it's too far away from the earth

a cowboy poet says
cowboy poetry say what
say I write cowboy poetry
and I vote this way not that
you may not get it yet
but one things for certain
I didn't cause all this debt

don't blame the cowboy poets
you can try it on but
the blame only sorta fits

20

THE ARTICLE:
"True to Mission, Comedy Central Still Strong at 20"
by Brian Steltzer
April 10, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/11/business/media/11comedy.html

THE POEM:
20

it's no joke on
April the first
twenty years have 'lapsed
since the funny found
a central point to
spiral itself 'round

twenty years forward to now
a woman at the head of a network
-ing a woman's ass off in
a man's world making the funny
like she could make a baby
labor pains shit and all

ganeless sounds like
gain less is more
in terms of a
funny guy and a
green screen
making millions
off the internet
and deep v's

gain more the merrier
at a gathering where
18, 34, and 20
are the numbers
on everyone's
lottery tickets
via com uh duh

next year
they'll be legal
and they'll throw down
in the spirit
of themselves

just about anything

THE ARTICLE:
"Where Eagles Dare, and Other Workscapes"
by Neil Genzlinger
April 9, 2011
http://tv.nytimes.com/2011/04/09/arts/television/human-planet-on-discovery-channel-review.html

THE POEM:
just about anything

by sea
by mountain
by jungle

a man will do just about anything
to survive

he will hold his breath
for five minutes
to spear a fish or two

he will dive into an
active volcano
to mine sulfur

he will perch himself
on the top of
Victoria Falls
to catch his dinner

by living room
by hulu
by ipod

a man will do just about anything
to entertain himself

he will watch
the strength of others
the struggle of others
the impossibility of others

and feel most himself

force fed

THE ARTICLE:
"White House Meeting on Budget Fails to End Impasse"
by Michael D. Shear
April 8, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/08/us/politics/08fiscal.html

THE POEM:
force fed

a glass slipper turned stray
and at the stroke of midnight
the country will turn into a still pumpkin
so, no, we are not prepared
to express wild optimism
that things won't
shut
down
'cuz
there's no agreement
'cept
there's no agreement
between people who butter their bread
butter side up
and people who butter their bread
butter side down
gas and babies
gas and babies
nobody can agree
on gas or babies
everything else has been
narrowed
into spaces that smell
like compromise might
if it wasn't all
a fairytale
in the traditional sense of the word
so they'll continue working
through the night
cutting bread in half
the thin way
awkwardly
buttering it in the middle
or until until someone agrees
to be force fed

remain

THE ARTICLE:
"Qaddafi Writes to Obama, Urging End to Airstrikes"
by David D. Kirkpatrick and Kareem Fahim
April 7, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/07/world/africa/07libya.html

THE POEM:
remain

a father and a son at war in a
tale as old as Hamlet and a pre-
step father sub poison and an ear
for oil and fire from the sky
but
still
despite:
[     ]
a father's love
sticks like his genes stick to science

a father believes his son
will do the right thing
will build peace out of words
on paper

reserves for his heart the
terror of his own creation

a man of power is born
out of oil

his mother's womb is
caked in black

it gushes out
with the placenta
and swaddles him
into his future

my father caught me
on the way out and
wrapped me up in
the air he said I could
shape into mountains

my brothers and I have
scared him
on many occasions

by being more than
two handfuls

by disintegrating
under his roof

by turning his genes
into madness

at nineteen he learned
the weight of the world
was seven pounds

a father and a child at war in a
tale as old as the years
between them

I was five
I screamed
as they fought
against the wall
in the basement

I don't know the sound
of my brother's voice

only the rhythm of
his anger

sons do not know
the texture of
their fathers' sacrifice

my father and I have been to war, separately
but never with each other

he has let me go
to a certain degree

he has said many times
and always plain
that I will always remain

a very grown up thing

THE ARTICLE:
"The Puzzle of Gullability"
by Paul Krugman
April 6, 2011
http://krugman.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/04/06/the-puzzle-of-gullibility

THE POEM:
a very grown up thing

belief makes things true
ish qualify parentheses
belong around words the way
quotes make them less of
themselves the way a verb
can turn into past tense
i love you becomes
i loved you and
i want to die becomes
i wanted to die
and one year is measured in
brothers lost and aunts estranged
trains ridden and zip codes changed
conversations with imaginary ghosts
of people alive and well
ish I hoped without me how could
well be anything but a lie to tell
yourself in the middle of a
selfish night but
things change the way
shapes change with more food
or less food or how a body swims in
its own water weight and changes
the way it believes in the world
the way it used to believe
no longer applies the way
resurrection can't help but
change a person's view
of the world

it is a very grown up thing
to realize love
isn't enough

gullible people fall in love
all the time they sink like ships
for lines crafted like woodwork
on a woman's heart

my father said love is a verb

my mother said you give too much

they've been in love since they
were seventeen

the same year I learned
the violence of love
before digesting it

people who have learned
not to be gullible
the hard way don't
easily fall in love

they begin to judge

to make checklists
in the air

hoping it will take longer
but last longer

it is a very grown up thing
to realize love
doesn't disappear
when it ends

it moves,
perhaps from the spine
to an elbow

a new language

THE ARTICLE:
"OMG!!! OED!!! LOL!!!!!"
by The New York Times Editorial Board
April 5, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/05/opinion/05tue4.html

THE POEM:
a new language

they have tried to make a word
for every reality on earth
in heaven
in hell

but I look at you and I
can't speak

there is no word
that fits your face

no word that
explains the shape
of your self

I will invent a new language
that is worthy of
conversation with you

to understand my vows,
they will have to look up
every word

history

THE ARTICLE:
"At China’s New Museum, History Toes Party Line"
by Ian Johnson
April 4, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/04/world/asia/04museum.html

THE POEM:
history

bigger and better with
no shades of gray just
pastels and reds that
drape over history
like old furniture
in a museum about
the now fronting as
a space to
portrait the past

entire families could live in
its holes

carve out lives in its
fertile ditches that
test positive
for carbon

ugly spaces whose teeth are crooked
and whose body is awkward
have been left out
of the narrative

the way a former flame
only mentions the good things
over lunch

not the nights he drank alone
or pondered death

in this way history
is made
after the fact

Out of 9,041

THE ARTICLE:
"For 9/11 Museum, Dispute Over Victims’ Remains"
by ANEMONA HARTOCOLLIS
April 3, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/03/nyregion/03remains.html

THE POEM:
Out of 9,041

Out of 9,041 pieces of
human remains
a hundred are
my husband's
elbows
knees
eyebrows
birthmarks above his left ear

Out of 9,041 pieces of
human remains
a hundred are
my husband's
spine
collar bones
thumbs
freckles on his v-shaped back

Out of 9,041 pieces of
human remains
a hundred are
my husband's
two left feet
that made dancing
so awkward
at weddings

Out of 9,041 pieces of
human remains
a hundred are
my husband's
oversized hands
and undersized lungs

Out of 9,041
a hundred are
ears that listened
to our children sleeping
and arms that carried them
at the end of long walks

Out of 9,041
his hundred will be in
a tomb of unknowns
with the other questions
we haven't stopped asking

avenge

THE ARTICLE:
"Afghans Avenge Florida Koran Burning, Killing 12"
by Enayat Najafizada and Rod Nordland
April 2, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/02/world/asia/02afghanistan.html

THE POEM:
avenge

mullah mullah mullahs
at the head of a crowd
taking off the heads
of another

an eye for an eye gets
lost in translation across
the universe turns into
a book for twelve bodies
a cartoon for four

too much wordtalking
from illiterate hands
cradling hate and tasting
triggers on the tips of
foreign tongues

flush and
fourteen piles of ash in Afghanistan
where fathers once stood
after men meshed Muhammad
with their own waste
in Cuba

the death of words
is the death of people
the way to avenge either
is the same

and vengeance knows no bounds
of geography

mullah mullah mullah
in my language
in your language
words are
such sorrow
in the making

paper cut

THE ARTICLE:
"U.S. Panel Suggests Research Into Causes and Prevalence of Health
Issues Facing Gays"
by Robert Pear
April 1, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/01/health/policy/01gays.html

THE POEM:

paper cut

the pre-cancer breasts of two women
pre-armageddon when all of this will
explode into who'll take care of the kids
after and who'll die first and nights where
one will lie on the former chest of the other

alex is taking her hormones
he wants what's best for her
and he'd rather bisect himself
with death than live another day
as herself

and evelyn's had an overdose
penciled in her agenda pad
ever since Dad caught her
going down on Rachel

paper cut and I tripped in
the subway blood floor
trash and the place where
I'm sure a rat has peed
a simple interaction
with an envelope
and now I might as well
have fallen on the tracks

in Saudi Arabia and
parts of Arabia
I am
against the law

here I am only
illegal in the hearts of
some people

in a venn diagram I imagine
they'd share space with
Americans that hang
Confederate flags
on their front porches

at eighteen I couldn't call the doctor
from my parents' basement closet

this paper cut will be
the death of me

affection

THE ARTICLE:

“In Mexico City, Kissing Tells of More Than Romance”

by Janet Jarman

March 31, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/31/world/americas/31mexico.html

THE POEM:

affection

blaring why don’t we

do it in the road

Mexican legs and

arms answer with

each wrapped around

others’ and

someone’s lips are

attached to his

lover’s knee

because even an elbow

can make a dick throb

if it’s the right elbow

clothes come off

when the money’s coming in

and even the people here

know what’s going down

in Jersey

two forty-year olds

one bald

one in blue eyeliner

met while selling hats

sexy

when they were young

people would point

if you touched

now they touch

while others are

too busy touching

to point

here in Mexico City

the most lips locking

have locked at an altitude

of 40,000 heartbeats and

20,000 pre-boners

affection is a way to forget

my lover said last night

I just want to feel

a woman’s body

makes it hard to think

a short and concise observation

THE ARTICLE:

“High School Graduation Rate in the City Is Lower Than Reported”

by Sharon Otterman

March 30, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/30/nyregion/30dropout.html

THE POEM: 
a short and concise observation

it’s

even worse

than we

thought!

change

THE ARTICLE:

“Obama Cites Limits of U.S. Role in Libya”

by Helene Cooper

March 29, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/29/world/africa/29prexy.html

THE POEM: 
change

ran and said

Iraq would phase out

hopes this won’t

be like that but doubts

running and saying

it’s not it’s not

things have changed

stuff happens

to the successors of

George W.

the way they happened

to him a man is

his reactions and
subjects rarely change

said

THE ARTICLE:

“Libyans Call Woman Who Claimed Gang Rape a Prostitute”

by David D. Kirkpatrick

March 28, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/28/world/africa/28tripoli.html

THE POEM:
said

he said

she said

they said

my friend

did not testify

because of what

they’d say

what these

have said

she’s drunk/insane/a liar

I say

why is a woman born

into a world

that doubts her

after it

rapes her

why is a vagina

a thing to rob

like a house

whose emptiness

is grounds

for entry

why must a man cum

to continue the world

and a woman’s clit

means nothing

to Darwin

why

has a house been offered

money been bribed

for the silence

of a hole

closing up

its own silence

he said

she said

they said

my friend

had a roofie

in her bloodstream

unlike the pool of blood

she woke up in

I say

why are women

programmed to bleed

why does the world

depend on it

blood on top of

blood will make

a vagina drown

in her own home

or can open her

into herself

in words loud

and rippling

I am not drunk

I am not insane

I am not a liar

new ways to be cruel

THE ARTICLE:

“A Girl’s Nude Photo, and Altered Lives”

by Stuart Isett

March 27, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/us/27sexting.html

THE POEM:

new ways to be cruel

Ho alert!

“How naked?”

All naked

and if you think this girls is a whore

then text this to all your friends

a former friend and

some forwarding make

the halls go buzz

fifteen and

maybe a virgin

but a picture’s worth

a thousand cherry pops

and they

popped her

public cherry

as far as

she’s concerned

dirty words and

webcams make

long-distance

loveships go float

(like those between

the boy in 5^th period lunch

and the girl in 4^th)

these mean girls

can be so mean

these silly boys

can be so silly

Silly Boy!

your socks got wet

in the shower

in jail

because

(un)believably

this was

pornography

a public service announcement:

boys will be boys

and girls will be bitches

their parents invented

new ways to be cruel

casualties

will ensue

not scared

THE ARTICLE:

“Libyan Woman Struggles to Tell Media of Her Rape”

by David D. Kirkpatrick

March 26, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/world/middleeast/27tripoli.html

THE POEM:
not scared

look at my face

look at my back

they defecated

and urinated

on me

fifteen of them

they say

(

)

but look at me

I am not scared of anything

they swore

they filmed

I was alone

there was whiskey

I was tied up

I am not scared of anything

Editing

THE ARTICLE:

“‘Spider-Man’ Is Said to Drop Geek Chorus of Narrators’”

by Patrick Healy

March 25, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/25/theater/spider-man-is-said-to-drop-geek-chorus-of-narrators.html

THE POEM:

Editing

a chorus of electrons

are the ones who have come

and gone

the anorexic boyfriends

the first love

the brother

and grandmother

to be a physicist

is to possess a love

of opposites

for magnets and friction

for things coming

then going

and the gravity that

keeps things in place

for an amount of time

but never forever

a physicist might call a breakup

ionization

I can’t edit a phone number

out of my head I know its

ten digits like I know the scars of

my own stomach and

things that start with 856

will always be eerie

a fourth wall has

covered me up but

who are we kidding

that violent scene

was all me

and so were

those jump-the-gun

wedding vows

one day my husband

will read the poetry

I wrote for other men

the same way

you can take

a chorus of geeks

off the page

but the damage

will have already

been done

in my new romance

things that start with 3

are the new things that start

with 2

a physicist might hypothesize

a 20-something

googles before screwing

and a 30-something doesn’t 

a fourth wall covers me up

the way editing doesn’t

quite seem to work

without lots of time

or medication

got drunk at Christmas to

edit the twelve months

since the last one

out of my system

this year I will be loved

in neon yellow

and apple red

forget

THE ARTICLE:

“Bearing Witness Beyond the Witnesses”

by Marissa Roth

March 24, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/24/arts/design/holocaust-museum-in-los-angeles-makes-hard-choices-review.html

THE POEM:

forget

pictures of dwarfs and witches

on the walls of a barracks

to comfort children who

understand Snow White

but not the smell of flesh

that has replaced their parents

Dr. Mengele likes the way

she connects dots and

shades rounded figures

orders contours of gypsies

to capture their frames

before he undoes them

in experimentation

the question

decades later will be

can we remember

too much?

the shoes

the shoes

they all say to one another

with their eyes

on the streets of Washington

empty leather where toes

once froze or perspired

ten years later

people have begun to get married

on September eleventh

or go on

first dates

my father worked on

the hundredth floor

it bothers him that

people have moved on

in seventy years

will people forget after

remembering too much

or forget after not

remembering enough

pigtails

THE ARTICLE:

“U.S. Returns Young Girl, a Citizen, to Guatemala”

by Sam Dolnick

March 23, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/23/nyregion/23citizen.html

THE POEM:

pigtails

a plane that came

without the daughter

of a father waiting 

at the gate

before knowing

he knew

it would be a long trip

back to Long Island

she is a very little girl

they plead a

husband and wife

who shouldn’t be here

like so many who

came for the streets

paved with gold

pudgy

Guatemalan arms

four years in the

growing she’s

got Asthma and

her breathing’s better

back where her parents

came from

she wears her hair

in pigtails

one for

each country

married with children

THE ARTICLE:

“Unmarried Pastor, Seeking a Job, Sees Bias”

by Erik Eckholm

March 22, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/22/us/22pastor.html

THE POEM:

married with children

in a rare unfair

evening out of the

ribs between

Adam and Eve

a man alone

can’t get ahead

like the woman alone

can’t get on up

to that deluxe

paradise in the sky

they asked Elena

if she was gay

straightened out

the curves

on Hillary

in pastel shades

of suit

too many doubts

when you’re not tied down

they pair halleluiah

and pedophilia

that’s how the Catholics

get their fix

and give us the remains of

joblessness

I haven’t met

my children yet

say a prayer for

married with children

amen and please

need a wife

to get through

to these sheep