Tuesday, May 21, 2013

21 may 2013

Heidi Lynn Staples [Ahsahta]

i went to see her, arriving self-satisfied as the one

i went to see her, arriving self-satisfied as the one

who settled his family here sometime in the 1830’s

I didn’t understand, for me life had been a sleepy little fishing village

though the east pass was bridged. i didn’t yet know that in her

              body formed the future and the future requires fire
for release of its seeds,

that she was leaving that future is patented and listed as real-estate

like lake flooding during hurricanes in the late 1920’s
               the blood leaving her face; disrupting the flow of water into
                                            the Everglades.

i brought her cookies, asked how are you feeling?
when she didn’t answer, when she looked out the window,

I said, let’s make this hospital bed look like a beach towel.

instead she lay there, wrapped in white
               fish fresh from the wholesale market.

. . .

she lay there quiet as the “Miracle Strip”

she lay there quiet as the “Miracle Strip”
in off-season, veins crammed with classic boardwalk

and junk satisfaction. skin gone neon

and i held her hand, that artificial reef,

i asked the nurse to bring her a room

full of ocean front                            young wed couples
              swaddling wet sand sunburnt toddlers

shaking out beach towels sand

              ineffable sand unnamable cause

luck of the draw determines what you get.

I hadn’t come to talk of bottle-nosed
dolphins, sea lions, and otters

celebrate and mourn our failure to connect.
Yet, I had been the number one people pleaser

since the house opened. Between

us were waterfalls, reflecting ponds, footbridges,

and all I could say was Gulf World.

like abundant billfish, sand, foam,

like abundant billfish, sand, foam,
she was always so seemed indestructible.

yeah, i can hardly bear to look at her.

the doctor comes in breezy as recreation

she’s scared, her eyes white sands and blue green
waters that became      check-in information

she is alive. that’s worth something, her body

so slight, so empty motel and amusement
parks with oceanic motif

so much translated          into fishing sport

her hand grown cold as a walk from coast
into condo

look the effects of the medication

have worn off. she’s talking. what she’s saying

. . .

i have seen the false breast & it’s full as a parasail

i have seen the false breast & it’s full as a parasail

only the remaining breast lonely manatee.
once huge creature, fondled

for its meat. abundance extinguished bit by bit as if

the victim of large-scale illegal poaching, cysts

instead of tree snails or epiphytic orchids from the hardwood

that’s why she’s gone unconscious, septic. why do

innumerable subterranean caverns fill with waste,
               x-rays look like population grown and unabated tourism

that’s the way it is is — her eyes open

magnolias, live oaks, and loblolly pines

it doesn’t seem enough to say to the surgeon,
please don’t walk on the dunes.

it has taken me years to realize the pain
                                           of just like family.

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