StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XIII, No. VIII

The collection of universes is not synonymous,
Each is a part of an unexpectively larger whole;
Location is devoid of meaning, for in truth,
We encounter but a singular definitive reality
Spreading infinitely in dimension and possibility.

The left thumbnail of the Vietnamese woman who does my nails
-- Fills every three weeks or so, a pedicure every few months --
A refugee from the communists we let wreak havoc across her country,
Has been shattered by some agent we avoid discussing and then
Ripped slowly from her finger to make sure she felt the pain.
What remains is a nail tortured pale white, split and tented
Along its middle length for the ten years I've known her,
Causing me to apologize for our leaving but not the defeating
Of the Chinese and the Russians and the North Vietnamese at Tet
-- We just should have finished what we started.

Mother, daughter, sister, wife,
What are we beyond the obvious?
-- Some one's teacher fondly remembered
Or an easily replaceable clerk,
A neurobiologist or astrophysist
But not yet a president or a pope --
What must we become before the world
Allows us our full humanity,
How can we seize an equal liberty
And an identity beyond our mani/pedi's?

— Lisa Jain Thompson (February 2012)

Tonight Rigel shines brighter than Betelgeuse,
All is right across the starry depths,
Yesterday a haze perhaps obscured her,
Giving lie to her distant, blue majesty,
Or Red Betelgeuse momentarily stirred and fired
Along her way to magnificent destruction
-- The heavens are anything but invariant.

I've never dated any goodfellas,
Never took them to my bed,
At least none that I know of
And I'm sure I would have known
What with all the phone calls,
Odd hours, and private communications
He would have had to excluded me from;
Not that I would have been brave enough
To challenge him to tell me:
I am Sicilian and there are rules after all.

We talk about our families,
About our mothers and fathers,
Our sons and daughters,

The love we felt, the love we gave,
The love we did not receive
Or know how to offer,

The love that was withheld
And the love we never felt
For those we should have loved,

How we learned what love is
And how we felt when we
Were no longer loved:

We live in our families,
The ones we are born in
And the ones we create,

This is where we live,
Not in theology or theory
But family and friends.

Winter Spring Spring Winter
Winter Winter Spring
Such are the days
Of our global warning

A tidal frog is due this morning
A heavy sunspot by afternoon
And early next week before the election
The Apocalypse will come quaking true

Forecast me not on an empty prairie
Or some passing sleeping death
I need a nova's cataclysmic fire
And a mountain top to watch from

What Doesn't

What doesn't kill you
-- Take care, take care --
Leaves you rather miserable;
Do not think of polar bears
When gators linger near,
Turtle to pond, bird to air,
Dine not on figs and mushrooms.