Didn't Get That Done

*

Forget to grind beans

Deep African innocence

slow infusion brew

Jim Bodeen

15 January 2020

For he will only write the poem

HOW PROOF ARRIVED

THAT I DIDN'T CARE FOR THEIR MONEY

            --for Wes Hanson

A series of short poems after coming

from the bank with my account closed

due to inactivity, I catch up on email.

It's the pleasure of the doing,

the practice, she says. Imagining absences.

Another friend, the one who only corresponds

in poems, wails over manufactured

Christmas correspondence. He reminds

me of Jesus spitting to make mud cakes

for the blind man's eyes. How can I

tell him how much I love his poems

righteous in his tears for a bleeding planet?

jim

January 9, 2020

Sunday with Our Elders

POST CARD TO AUNT PHYLLIS

AFTER OUR VISIT ON KAREN'S BIRTHDAY

You're Karen's birthday present

I say when you ask why we're here.

You're just back from lunch

with Gerri and Eric.

Karen's 75 today, but you

won't turn 102 until the day

before Valentine's. A surprise

party for the young. Too many

pictures you say as we stand

in front of posters.

I thought growing old would take longer.

Allison made this wall to last.

We talk about Books on tape,

look at Danielle Steele's titles

and Jackie Kennedy--Clint Hill

took care of her 29 years you say.

You remind us to talk good

about the dead and call me

an educated fool. Karen

takes a picture of me

sitting at your feet.

Love, Jim

10 January 2020

POST CARD TO WARREN MURPHY

ON KAREN'S BIRTHDAY JUST AFTER CHRISTMAS

There's nothing I like better than mail,

Warren. My eyes go right to that stack

of letters on your light table. Photos.

Joe and Karen making lefse. Maybe

it's pizza. Pan de Vida. How cool

to see Karen and I on Christmas card

beside you and Betty framed beside us.

It's January 2d by the block calendar.

Karen's 75 on this day. You two

talk family ancestry, children

arriving Christmas morning

in pajamas. Karen says she doesn't

miss work, but dreams about it.

That's the way that goes,

you say smiling. This post card

from Yakima says we love you.

Jim

10 January 2020

UH-OH

UH-OH

Slept in

Woke at 4

read

The Idiot

Prince Myshkin

I suspected

then, I

might be

in trouble

Woke late

Woke Kate

I said,

Get up

it's late

6:37

I slept in

It's

6:38

Really

Really

Jim Bodeen

10 January 2020

PTSD POSTAL STAMP OF HEALING

THE HEALING STAMP (SEMI-POSTAL)

We've been working on these prayers

for some time, wanting them ready,

at hand, finding ourselves instead

in a different airport, banal's trap door

insisting we say To hell with it,

say it wrong. Say Tet, January 68,

surprise on your way to the Post Office.

Neither birthday nor attack. Days

piled on top of one another

in body bags. Months and months

of dead bodies. Pull over,

look for paper.  Dead leaves,

dark ink, a rich mulch unfolding

green springs of hope sprung,

airplanes leaving tarmac daily

a half century back. Medicine

thrown down watches women

wave to asylum seekers

bound and boarding

Swift Air's determined deportation,

women's voices out-singing

desperation, Not alone.

You are not alone.

Jim Bodeen

7 January 2020

The Anointing of Karen

TRYING TO UNDERSTAND YESTERDAY, THIS MORNING

           

For Karen

Unable, even now, to see her,

Clearly, as she is,

What’s taking place

            This run           over the mountains

            To see the living elders

                        Is this not redundant?

            Repetitive? Could it be any other way?

Warren, 93,

Phyllis, 102 before Valentine’s

A birthday presence

            An anointing

                        All of what took place

Of who she is—Karen

            Like I’m getting it,

                        Glimpsing,

                                   

            Here—

In these poems

            Blessed—

Blessed by, given the all,

            All in all,

                        By them

This January Second,--

Queen, but not queen,

            Bishop, but not bishop,

                        Partner, and beyond

Her partner. Beyond

            Us now,

                        Beyond us all

                       

                        Family royalty

The one for whom we have no equivalent

The one for whom we have no language

The one from whom there is no judgment

Whose intimacy we experience

And do not know

Come to us

            In the ringing of bells.

Love, Jim

3 January 2020

                       

BIRTHDAY LINES FOR THE BELOVED

SOME OF WHAT CAN BE SAID

ON YOUR JANUARY BIRTHDAY,

            KAREN,

We're still in bed when Tim calls

New Year's morning. It's early

before his work on the mountain.

We're in our pajamas

talking about last night,

having our first talk of the year.

Tim says he'll call you tomorrow

on your birthday. Your 75th.

We watch quilters tell stories

with fabric and color

on American Quilters.

Tomorrow, on your birthday,

we'll drive to Seattle, see

Warren, 93, your brother-in-law; and

Aunt Phyllis, 101, a day

with living ancestors. I watch

today as I'll witness tomorrow,

you, Karen, family matriarch,

wife of 51 years. As I write

you carry dishes to the kitchen,

Ahh, your cry, and I know

you've stepped on the ice cube

I didn't pick up. Last night

we fed our daughters, sons-in-law,

and grand children pulled pork

and cracked crab. We have

this day to ourselves, one day

from last year to your birthday.

We practice this catch-up

like we know what it is.

Watching politicians on television

we're drawn to their hair,

talking about comb-overs,

disagreeing even with the same definition.

This is a new year, the Rose Bowl,

and again we're in it.

I've marinated Mexican shrimp

and at half-time I'll put them in a pan

with diced Serrano chiles, we'll sit at table

and swath them in melted butter.

Tonight we'll watch a movie.

I love you to the barber's and back.

Jim

1 January 2020