Daily Archives: September 2, 2015

My Dance, My Bad, My Deep

Originally posted 2/7/2013.

My dance, my bad, my deep…
gave a sorrow opening,
loosed it on
the gap within, and now:

ornery. Tantrum.
Layabout and cry. Going to victim
this whole long day;  go pick me some kudzu,
funeral bouquet for never-ending grief show.

Still, got rocker hips, roller hips, jazz
groin and lips and hips;
 joy must end up somewhere
when pushed from head and heart…thus,

I end up as one sad grinder.  End up bad.
Bad, sinking in deep but still, there’s
one way to set it off
and hold it back — 

so I’m off to music while still in the hole
to give my bad, my deep a resistance,
give it rhythm, a big mole digging in 
under the roots, charged up,

rubbling my dark village, quake cracking,
flipping dirt into the light.  When I, frightened, shake,
I still gotta dance my dance, my bad, my deep;
I dance, even if I dance sad,  because that’s my gotta happen.


Eggplant Parmesan Versus Evil

I understand the glorious alchemy
of salting slices of just picked raw eggplant 
to draw up the bitter essence from the flesh
so that it may be rinsed away, 

and it’s not hard at all for me to delight
in the mysteries of the scent 
rising from the oven as the slices
are baked for inclusion in a dish
to be served late tonight to someone well loved.

I understand these things.
I feel the joy of service and making
when I turn to them from news of this world
that’s starving for such joy.

I don’t know how to approach those children
dead on beaches and in the streets; 

how to speak to those among us so willing 
to let freedom be wrung out of us,

can’t bear to lose the sweetness
being drawn from us daily;

I don’t know how to love a nation
so openly bent on hate and madness, 

how to love and live in that world — but

I can ladle good fresh tomato sauce
onto the layers of eggplant and lay on
thick cheese; I can bake it and wait for it
to come into its glory; I can broil it briefly 
until it bubbles, I can set it before a loved one
and say “here’s something”
with some small joy,

for here indeed is something,
something small

made from food I grew to be good
and food I sought out to make it better; 
this is a thing I can do
to make love visible 
that is too often hidden.

It’s not enough,
but tonight it will have to do
to keep away 
despair,

to fill us up.