241
Sonnets From Other Lives: Smoke

Some nights Smoke will walk along the levee.
There on the Moonwalk ‘cross from Jackson Square
where the Mississippi fog hangs gray & heavy,
he’ll stop at random intervals & stare
through the murk. Just watch the river flow
then final hundred miles. He listens for that
sound he swears he heard five years ago.
Gospel son. Back on the night before
Katrina hit I come up to this spot.
Had some things I had to tell the river.
I heard a trumpet blow so bright & hot…
It weren’t human—so sir--He says with a shiver.
I heard it I swear son-sure as you’re born--
it was the ghost of Buddy Bolton’s horn.

238
Sonnets From Other Lives: de Marco

Saw two young dudes sitting in the back
of the bus. Dressed in their best mall punk attire.
Now kids wear Hot Topic in Iraq,
they’re stoned to death & maybe set on fire.
Three tours, a metal leg, a TBI,
I catch myself now & then thinking, Damn!
4000 something U.S. dudes just died
so Iraq can get nostalgic for Saddam?
Had another interview today.
Don’t think I was quite what they expected.
They weren’t hiring machine gunners anyway,
so I expect my application was rejected.
Army strong, right? As in how much can you take
of this shit before you finally break?

240
Sonnets From Other Lives: Trail Notes

first there is a raven’s wooden plonk
followed by the rattle of a crow.
spring has turned the trail into a swamp
& the northern slopes still hold swatches of snow—
frozen slush dark stained by needle mulch
that drip downslope swelling angel creek
into cacophony in the dark gulch
below. the trail’s determined oblique
rises upridge toward a mountain col
& the alpine fairyland of peaks
above the forest’s conifer cathedrals.
a field of talus—switchbacks & we rise
to meet in intersection with the sky.

239
Sonnets From Other Lives: Les

--What say you & me step outside &
discuss our business without all this crowd.
--Sure, Les—Dumbass answers with a side-
long glance around the room. –Am I allowed
to finish my drink first? Les gives him one
of his fisheye looks—the one that shrivels
guy’s nuts nearly as deftly as a gun
in the face. –Alright Dumbass, your drivel
& worthless bullshit is worth waiting for.
I’ve waited weeks to have this conversation.
Now I don’t have to look for you no more,
I intend to resolve this situation
once and for all. Dumbass I know you know
what happens when you don’t pay what you owe.

237
Sonnets From Other Lives: Dan

Wake me when it’s over. I don’t think
this can be happening unless I am
asleep, but if I’m not, I’ll take that drink
you mentioned earlier. For guys like Dan
the pure unvarnished truth should always be
administered with liquid anesthesia.
He’s wagered everything thinking that he
might get a break. Selective amnesia
blocked the déjà vu that should have warned him.
He’s been here too many times—right on the edge
of a good thing… Well it came up craps again.
Climb out a window? Stand out on a ledge?
Not to worry. Over time I’ve found
there’s always a way out. I call it: Down.

236
Sonnets From Other Lives: Jen & Jeri

Face it girl, the dude’s a total ‘bag.
This time you gotta finally face the facts.
These things happen--I know—it’s a drag,
but when has that guy ever made eye contact
with your actual eyes & not your tits?
Jeri blows her nose as Jen rants on.
Then the bastard turns around & hits
on me! Your BFF! That is SO wrong!
Jen flags the waitress, orders margaritas,
Two more Grandes --pronto por favor!
Gotta pee—Jeri says rising from her seat— a
bit unsteadily, Just this one more
& then I gotta get myself back home
& start getting used to being there alone.

235
Sonnets From Other Lives: Ruth

Boys will be boys, my husband used to say
but that was while the boys were still alive.
He isn’t saying anything these days.
He was the one who taught them how to drive.
When the call came from the State Patrol,
& everything was shattered into shards,
& each of us was left with half a soul,
our continents began their drift apart.
The silence. The assessing of the blame.
We left our haunted house, moved to Carmel,
& changed everything except our names.
It’s such a pretty place, our little hell,
where I take some small comfort in knowing
I could walk into that ocean & keep going.

234
Sonnets From Other Lives: Nick

It was time for them to begin heading home. A
storm would be rolling in on them soon.
Lenticular clouds over Mt. Tahoma
portending rain, a waning crescent moon
rising in the east, the signs align,
Nick thinks, hoisting his rucksack. The Alsatian
stands up, stretches & approaches. Time
to go home, Sam? Wagging in affirmation,
the dog trots down trail towards the waiting truck.
Nick follows with his geriatric lurch.
Yeah we had a good day, Sam, our luck
has held out weatherwise. This is Nick’s church--
these alpine firs, these mountains & this trail...
He means to keep this Sabbath 'til the old flesh fails.

233
Sonnets From Other Lives: Joni

A murmuring a starlings fills the sky
over the winter stubble of the valley.
Joni stops in midstride-- hypnotized.
by the avian cloud launching its wild sallies
in & out & over—fro & to
like some mindless mind mimicking chance.
What pulls at them? Does it pull at her too?
The choreographer of her own dance
has left this foetus fluttering inside
her—forcing myriad alterations to
her flight plan. She’d thought that she would glide
like a seagull, soaring easily through
a carefully considered life. Instead,
she’s bracing for the turbulence ahead

232
Sonnets From Other Lives: Andy

She finds him underneath the bed—
silent—locked down—deep inside himself.
She knows then he’d heard everything they’d said.
Andy? You all right? But she can tell
he’s not alright & probably won’t be
alright for some time now. Come on out
from there honey. We can read
The Jungle Book. But in her mind her doubts
flit like fruit flies. She lays on the floor
beside his bed. He’s curled like a cat—
his hoodie pulled over his head. He’s four.
How long will his memory hold that
moment that put him here? Forever?
Like a string grown too entwined to sever?

231
Sonnets From Other Lives:Gordon

Gordon just cashed out the IRA,
sold the condo, all the furniture,
gassed up the Accord & drove away.
Gail, his ex, drunk dialed him once. Her
voice cracking up, demanding explanations.
He had nothing. Look we’re breaking up…
he said & blocked her number. A station
out of Phoenix played Bartok. He bought a cup
of coffee at a truck stop outside Barstow.
Seagulls swirled around him in L.A.
Just outside of Portland he hit snow.
He hadn’t planned his getaway
or anything. He just wanted to leave.
& leave he will as long as he can breathe.

231
Sonnets From Other Lives: Norma

Many people took her for a fool.
Most likely it was all those wide-eyed questions.
The answers came back with a cruel
edge of sarcasm & that expression
of superiority that stupid people have
when failing to see their stupidity.
For a time these moments mad her sad.
But in a moment of lucidity,
it struck her she’d been leading them all on
letting them believe their condescension.
What can you do? She’s just a dumb blonde.
She was too kind puncture their pretensions—
too shy to confront them, so instead
she turned into everything they said.

Welcome to the New Religious Freedom.
While Freedom of Religion 1.0
concerned itself with practicing ones creed
independent of state interference,
this new iteration’s main concern
is the freedom to impose restrictions
on those who may not necessarily
agree with one’s deeply held convictions.
i.e. the freedom to restrict their right to marry,
or the freedom to withhold contraception,
or the freedom to force women to carry
fetuses to term, (even at the cost of their own lives).
Who knew that Freedom meant the imposition
of another’s will on the unwilling?
One's position is by definition weak
if it must be couched in such Orwellian Newspeak.

230
Sonnets From Other Lives: Jimmy G

Word was that Jimmy G was quite the rounder
in the months when he come back from war.
That all ended (he said) when he found her.
Told Krissy he didn’t need wild times no more
but then you know one thing led to another.
The mill shut down & that didn’t help none.
Krissy said she wasn’t ‘bout to be his mother
as Jimmy fell back to havin’ his fun
in roadhouses & honky tonks & bars
& towns all up & down the interstate.
He made a few bucks fixin’ up old cars
but spent it all carousin’ until late
night early morning. It was kinda sad. He
weren’t worth shit—just like his own daddy.

229
Sonnets From Other Lives: Minna

Minna was confused at first and thought
he hadn’t said it—didn’t mean it—but
he had & did & (stupid!) she had not
seen it coming. She just sat there. What
do you mean? I just don’t understand
it, that’s all. He looked exasperated.
Is that why you asked me here? You planned
it all out in advance? The space created
around her was expanding as she spoke.
Nebulae were drifting into clouds.
She went outside & lit a smoke.
Asshole! Had she just said that aloud?
What now? Walk away? Go back inside?
She finally got it. There was nothing to decide.

228
Sonnets From Other Lives: The Girl of His Dream

She is not the girl of his dreams
per se. He would more accurately put
it that she was the girl of one dream.
One dream that had been inserting its foot
into the doorway of his consciousness
all too frequently these days. When in
this nearly petit mal state, he's distressed
that he can't even remember if or when
he even met her—in real life that is.
(He’d only barely met her that one time,but
something must have registered in his
alcoholically befuddled mind.
Will he ever really see the girl again?
His hands still feel the smoothness of her skin.

227
Sonnets From Other Lives: the Subject

The CCTV camera at the mall
at thirteen thirty seven indicates
he’s roughly five foot seven or so tall.
In the ATM shot you can see his face
& environmental propaganda
on his t-shirt. His browsing history
tells us he plays online games & has a
mild interest in pornography.
Once or twice a week he will go jogging,
(three point seven miles—Google Earth).
For the last six months he has been blogging
about his politics. For what it’s worth,
we’d like more data than what we have here so
we can process his whole life as ones & zeros.

226
Sonnets From Other Lives: Gil

Gil pushes his walker through the mall—
one circuit equaling one point two miles.
These days one circuit ‘round is really all
he can manage. The pretty mall cop smiles
as he approaches—Hey Gill! Keep on truckin’.
He looks up from his stooped lurch—Ah yuh,
Rosa—I’m tryin. You make your own luck in
this world, Gil thinks. Lord know he’s seen enough
hard times to know. Just half a mile to go—
one one hundred twelfth the distance of
the march from Bataan to San Fernando.
Pick em up & set em down now. Left. Right. Left.
As long as you’re still movin you ain’t dead.

227
Sonnets From Other Lives: Gail

It’s just a heavy snowfall—not a blizzard
or anything, but the freeway’s not moving.
Crap—Gail says & puts All Things Considered
on the radio. ShitCrap! She’s losing
patience. Taking out her mobile phone,
she calls the sitter—Carole? Look I’ll be
late. The freeway's jammed. No I don’t know..
She’d left work without stopping to pee.
Big mistake. Then the guy in the car
in front of her starts putting on his chains.
Jesus Christ! Do you know where you are?
This is the freeway! What are you? Insane?
Dire news drones on the radio.
Oh just to pee, collect her kids, & get back home.

225
Sonnets From Other Lives: Gino

Gino owned that he’d been acting surly
since his recent self-defenestration.
(Seems this girl’s parents came home early. )
It brought him scarily close to castration
by picket fence. He landed badly &
cracked his calcaneus. Now cast
in clichéd rom-com humiliation
& itchy neon plaster-- Just don’t ask—
he says, but it’s too late. The word is out.
Yo Romeo! You gotta pick a lower
balcony next time—the assholes shout.
& all Gino can do is limp & glower.
Note to self: Next you’re trying to get laid
take time to plan a better getaway.

224
Sonnets From Other Lives: Rosi & Nu

They order banh mi sandwiches to go.
(A sign forbids “eating on food" inside.)
Fall is in full flame outside & so
they’re glad enough to picnic. You should try
a soda chanh—Nu says. Rosi complies.
She’s new to Vietnamese take-out. Oh my
Gawd Nu! I'm in love! Love at first bite.
Love—the word does cartwheels in Nu’s chest.
I think D’shaun is asking me to tolo--
Rosi says—You going with someone?
Nu stammers out—I might go—you know—solo.
Rosi laughs—I’ll fix you up. It’ll be fun.
Seagulls, sensing handouts float above
the girls & cry like unrequited love.

223
Sonnets From Other Lives: Wilson

Know that swirling gyre of garbage in
the mid-Pacific? We’re all castaways
floating in detritus. You begin
to meld with jetsam--rue the days
that we’ve infested this poor planet.
There’s too much goddamn noise! Don’t you find
that it’s a struggle simply to inhabit
some pristine place within without your mind
wandering in the rancid memes & logos
that leech onto us parasitically?
See every other thing I think I know--
every other random memory--
was bought & paid for-- sponsored & spoon fed
to me by me & will be ‘til I’m dead

222
Sonnets From Other Lives: Elke

In the labyrinthine showrooms of Ikea
she sees them wending—vacant eyed & lost.
She’ll be stocking SMYCKA table lamps & see a
middle aged man measuring the cost
of the NYVOLL bed frame vs the FJELLSE
with a face somewhere between confused
& woebegone. Sometimes they ask for help. She
smiles professionally—somewhat bemused
by their predicaments. The KARLSTAD sofa-
bed is practical for sure but the KIVIK
is so much more chic I think & goes a
lot better with your POANG armchair. Pick
your new life carefully-- she thinks. Of course
the old one was commandeered in the divorce.