Bad Patriot Poem
sun bears are the smallest bear species
the 2nd smallest bear species is
not the moon bear although they are
relatively small when compared
to other bears such as polar bears
if left alone most dog breeds would
die off and the ones remaining would
adapt through natural selection
to survive in the wild like wolves
the new variety of poodle will be
smaller but also have warmer legs
because humans will be gone
and their fur will not be shaved
for aesthetic reasons
this morning i woke up in iowa city
in seoul my brothers who i may
or may not have are getting ready
for bed no one here looks like
me everyone looks at me hi
hello i say i’m trying my best
to be american no one here thinks
i can be an american
Narrative Studies #3
The river eats the light. The light catches the moths. I meant vanish. I meanted
the opposite of vanish. There are limitations to words. Limitations to the knowledge of.
See: the end of every argument. This is why we turn down the television’s volume when
our favorite characters are at the part of the story where they just haven’t quite realized
that they are still in love. I want to make a list of every word I know and test the limitations
of algorithms. I want to string the words together and hear the applause after my orchestra.
we use metaphors to compare something we don’t understand with something we know.
like at the investment seminar the man displays the wealth gap using piles of rice. We are here,
to his left: small pile, with enough to feed us, maybe save up to trade for a nice car every
decade or two. But as we go right, the piles get bigger and bigger until we see the man
again standing on top of the tallest pile. He says I was once over there too. pause. I was once
you! But you can join me too! and now this is the part of the story where we realize that we
are living in the warnings. That investment meant sales pitch. That Time shares is in the fine
print. When the words are done dancing across the page that they can not/will not
return unchanged. But the man is well dressed. The man speaks well. Well the winters
are cold here. The white sand between our feet. Blue drinks in hand as the sun
glimmers against our glasses. Ignoring the way the sun has aged all our faces.
At the end of logic this is where we will be.
an ode/elegy that starts out being about my dog then my grandma but really was about me the whole time
i am thankful for that every letter has a sound. for congregation.
for gathering. and. agreed understanding. when i say my dog died
you think of your dog. a the limits of time. how he /she died
too. and. we share our individual same-sadness. in my arms. after
one year of cancer. (oh no my voice is cracking.)
i want to know what happens after a language fails.
*
i wish he was my best friend wasn’t such a cliche. and. but really. had more meaning.
that i was younger and could believe in “the farm up north”. and. that
my mother did not have to feel so sad when she saw me cry. and wiping
the tears off Taffy’s stiffening body.
*
My grandmother died that same fall.
My mother, her caretaker, for the last decade.
*
Overtime the legs stopped working. then arms. overtime
is slow. like how the leaves do not fall all at once. that would be absurd.
like. a what is this hospital bed doing in the living room.
*
we tie up the end for comfort. laces in shoes. or. dog heaven.
the way we gather the words to remind us of joy. like how, once
my grandmother could no longer speak, mom translated a dictionary
of sounds. one for I love you & another for Thank you.
*
it was early october. or i can’t really remember.
mom walked into grandma’s room and said something about heaven.
something about being in a better place. something about losing
a mother. and
losing a friend too.
she cried. and. i cried watching her cry.
*
one day I will be my mother.
***
Author photo courtesy of author
