~

the tree

the largest oak in the backyard,

the one with a tire swing near the playhouse,

wanted climbing. it always did.

that led to a very bad bloody nose, when

toddy, my neighbor and friend, 

began pounding nails through a board.

he intended to make a ladder

of boards up the tree. a poorly struck

hammer blow sent the nail 

flying backward, and his nose bled and bled and bled.

~

the boots

my aunt had a pair of riding boots,

english style, tall and thin soled, and

for reasons i didn't know, and don't know,

they were in our attic, in the dark

and terrifying narrow space where dad

kept his suitcases, and mom kept

boxes of old clothes. occasionally, 

when i thought of it, i would steel my nerves,

turn on the forty watt bulb

and try on the boots, waiting for the day

they would fit. they never did. 

they were too big. then they were too small.

~

the print

an utrillo print, very ugly, hung

above the mantel of our fireplace. a dreary print.

it was, i suppose, my mother's attempt

to add sophistication to an otherwise

sad room. the house was happy enough,

the screen door opening and slamming shut

with friends coming and going, but 

the print cast a pall. maybe no one noticed

but me. i would have chosen something cheerier.

~

mr. anno

since my brother is so much younger than me

i was almost like a third parent to him.

now the age difference means less, and we 

are growing closer, a dependency is developing.

when my brother was very little

someone gave him a stuffed animal, a monkey,

for his birthday or christmas. it became 

a family tradition to give him a stuffed monkey,

not a real stuffed monkey, the plush things,

on his birthday and christmas until 

he had quite a collection. there was chester o'chimp

that talked when you pulled a string in his back,

and there was his favorite, a white monkey

he named mr. anno. mr. anno was a part of the family.

now he and the others reside in a closet.

my brother is getting the hang of girls.

things change. i hate to draw conclusions.

~

layla

some symbols represent awakenings, some closings.

this one represents both. a friend

invited me to a party. it was in a part of town

that was unfamiliar to me. we walked up

a narrow flight of stairs, the doorway 

fronting the street betweens two businesses.

the apartment was above one of them.

it was evening, and summer. the room 

was almost empty but for a dozen people, our age,

lying on the floor, leaning against walls,

sprawled over the couch. the rug was filthy,

the windows were too. everyone was drunk

and stoned, no one was talking, or barely.

bottles of beer, wine, tequila, and more,

littered the floor, or were being passed around.

there was salt and lemon for the tequila.

it was the first time i heard the song layla.

when my friend drove me home

i was so drunk i didn't know . . . i didn't know anything. 

in my cozy bedroom and bed

the room swirled and i drifted in and out

of consciousness, getting up to be sick.

i've heard of girls named layla. i would not

do that, i'd rather not remember that night.

~

the fish

but we remember things we'd rather not.

a bass i caught, that my dad brought home for dinner.

i watched it gape and die. it took forever.

~

various

blake and donne used symbols

easily recognizable to english readers.

my symbols mean something only to me.

a blue satin hair ribbon. a ring

terri gave me. a piece of driftwood

from a trip to wisconsin. my grandfather's 

i.d. bracelet from wwii. such things

as that, as those. i don't know

what they mean, but they mean something.

in a way, they all make me sad.

~

the blue ribbon

except the blue ribbon. it is, i guess,

a symbol of my deflowering. that would be julie.

nothing sad about that.

~

symbols?

these are not symbols, are they? 

they're reminders. i guess in my world

of poetry, in contemporary poetry,

we use analogies, metaphors, and similes

rather than classic symbolism. 

things change. i hate to draw conclusions,

but i think this poem is not what i meant it to be.

~

the future

classes start on the thirty-first. professor eliot 

agreed to lead another seminar.

that makes me really happy. marcy

is in first year med school, but said

she'll try to come when she can. antoinette,

i'm not sure. colin, yes. professor eliot

said there will be at least two new students.

i have to begin thinking of themes,

and i have to begin writing what i mean to write.

~