haiku
by rcribay
a tree rustles
as sunlight and wind move through:
a wasp on my forearm.
the sieve and the sand
Leaving the wheat with the chaff. This is not your mother’s poetry.
June 8, 2010
it’s water
by rcribay
as the train approached our stop
we saw the edge of the storm
a wall of rain quickly advancing
when we stepped onto the platform
into the deluge the other passengers
laughed at our misfortune
we held our umbrellas like shields
they flailed and failed to protect us
the wind carried water in all directions
in seconds our shoes were sponges
wet clothes clung to wet skin
three blocks never seemed so far
but laughing beneath our umbrellas
loud enough so the other could hear
three blocks never seemed so near.
June 2, 2010
working memory
by rcribay
i try to recall the park that night
(beneath a sea of stars?):
how we walked around the pond (twice?)
our hands brushed (by accident?) as we
sat upon the cold (wooden?) bench,
how you looked wearing my (grey?) hat
with your (silver?) hoop earrings
as you slipped off your (shoes?)
and i tried not to shiver.
the details are foggy,
elusive approaching fictitious,
but what remains are two things: that
feeling that something
really fucking great
was about to happen
and the taste of the scent of the leaves.
May 23, 2010
reflections of a superhero
by rcribay
the bank teller from last month:
a gun pressed to his temple
eyes closed he trembled like a leaf
trying to put bills into a bag
i have a wife, three kids…please…
i approached noiselessly
said something witty, something dark
and before the crook could turn in surprise
i snapped his neck his body fell to the floor in a heap
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou
said the teller.
the other day he quit his job
left his wife
left his kids
figuring life is short, said fuck this,
got into his car and drove across town
into the arms of another.
why do i fight for this world
when they do all they can to destroy it?
the old lady from last week:
her feeble cries for help
barely lifted from the flames
the smoke choked her ancient lungs
she felt the heat of Death’s breath
i crashed through the weakened roof
tossed flaming furniture from my path
found her in the corner
scooped her gently into my arms
leapt down six stories to safety
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou
said the old lady.
an investigation later revealed
the source of the conflagration:
her meth lab.
and
in the other room:
the charred remains of
her four-month-old granddaughter.
why do i fight for this world
when they do all they can to destroy it?
the prime minister yesterday
impeccable his in his new suit
stood at the podium pontificating
oblivious to the sniper’s crosshairs.
he would later say when he heard the shot
his life flashed before his eyes
but I moved across the stage
swift as light
caught the bullet in my right hand
presented it to him as a souvenir
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou
said the prime minister.
today he declared war
in retaliation for the attempt on his life
half a million soldiers prepare for battle
saying goodbye to childrenwiveshusbandsbrotherssistersmothersfathers
taking up their guns
promising to write
promising to make everyone proud.
why do i fight for this world
when i should destroy it?
May 18, 2010
A house with a tree
by rcribay
I want house with a tree out front
the kind of tree whose branches reach out, real low
declaring its domain
at least twenty feet each way
the kind of tree whose limbs are a nest
blocking out the sun
submersing us in shade
giving us space to be alone
the kind of tree with leaves the size of an open hand
that, in the fall, burn red on one side
yellow on the other
and in a sun-drenched October wind shimmer
like all of your favorite memories.
May 5, 2010
just when we thought the storm would take us into the night
by rcribay
the day’s last light
slides down the street
soaked surfaces soak photons
reflecting colors deeper
than the sea.
April 26, 2010
balikbayan
by rcribay
in front of him bagumbayan field lies still
the sun still low in the east
casts long stone shadows from tall green leaves of rice
spiky shadows from silent green palms
gentle parabolic shadows from horizon hills
all standing still undisturbed by time
sensing it’s time inhales (deeply)
damp shadowy green morning air
imagines the frozen shadows he can’t see
(those of the men and women lined up in his periphery
those of the eight filipino soldiers behind him (or of their rifles)
those of the eight spanish soldiers behind them (or of their rifles))
his hands reach to his neck
straighten the tie he bought in madrid
both hands then brush his once black suit
grayed and frayed from lack of light
and too much dust these last few days
(inside breast pocket still holds her desiccated sampaguita)
he grips the brim of his hat tips it slightly in the fashion
raises his chin lengthens his shadow
sees in the distance farmers watching
(standing still hands on hips casting shadows)
he feels a breeze gather on his right cheek
watches the world wake from its shadowy sleep
the green rice field now sways in slow undulations
green light green green light green green
hears then sees the rustling palms soft rustle
the farmers (now bored) bend low return to work
a pair of kingfishers flit by in sharp arcs (one chasing the other)
the unset shifting shadows stripped of their permanent sense
wind then whips his hat off his head he hears a shot
then feels it (a sudden burn (like all his favorite lines of poetry))
then feels nothing but sees the blue–more red but still blue–sky
without a cloud to cast a shadow.
April 19, 2010
magnetic
by rcribay
lunate, you say, holding my wrist
between your practiced thumb and forefinger
ulna, radius, humerus, your light brown hand sliding
eloquently up my arm
clavicle, gliding up then down, scapula, resting now
vertebrae C1 through T5, your hand descending
like my eyelids
–
gloved hands held
we step down into the station
flakes of snow, finite emissaries,
clinging to your coat’s black wool
a man on a bench
plays the ehru to no one—
a string snaps
i lay my head on your shoulder
breathe in the scent of winters passed
–
bundled on the boat’s stern
we’ve been watching for hours
shielding your eyes from the sun and peering into the waves
you say, nobody’s there
a pelican, the sky’s sole occupant,
disappears over the horizon
and lingers in my thoughts
as i sip loudly from the juice box you packed
i wonder
what monsoons he’s seen
i silently bid him Godspeed
–there, you say, pointing
i struggle to see; but then see
sprays of water, fins slicing crests and troughs,
elemental black bodies
lifting and dipping in slow sequence
–
i am writing the last line:
the cat dives
across the page
i pick her up and replace her
on a window sill overlooking a red oak budding
find you in our bed still sleeping
kiss you on the forehead, return to my desk
brush hairs from the page
whose blank space now feels antarctic
April 12, 2010
Alchemic
by rcribay
Sprigs of spring,
uncut, uneven,
twitch in the breeze,
I distribute myself in particles
abandoning anchoring roots.
As the oak watches the world,
stony in its indifference,
so I slip into the wind
airily ignoring.
Nothing is as quiet
as the blossoming redspire pear,
as the wisps of cirrus
reforming.
The surrounding red brick buildings
hold their tongues as they always have.
Infused in the soil, I feel everything.
The nervous skittering of the squirrel.
The slow shifting of growth.
The soft weight of supine bodies,
like fingers checking a geologic pulse.
My molecules
having drifted so far,
the shadowy rustle
of last fall’s leaves.
April 5, 2010
Madman
by rcribay
If you see me these days
you’ll think me a madman
You’ll see my lips moving
muttering beneath my breath
You’ll see me stop and stare
at things inconsequential
like branch of a dogwood or
a pigeon eating bread
(Annoyed passers-by will grumble
as they move past,
water over a stone)
You’ll see my eyes close, hands open:
press palms to grass granite light–
hold them there.
But what you may not see
is that I’m just tasting the next line
drinking vowels forming in my mouth
licking consonants skipping from my lips
savoring syrupy syntax
My eyes are mesmerized
interpreting intricacies of arboreal extensions
appreciating the finch’s purple plumage
–seeing what it is we fail to see on a daily basis
My hands:
search to sense the coolness of building shadows
the recycled life of upturned soil
the warmth of the sheets
- after you’ve left the bed.
March 30, 2010
Time and Space
by rcribay
1
Entered the room; entered his lingering life,
Shelves with comics and baseball trophies,
Photographs taped to walls.
Quiet dust erupted at the weight of a body on the bed;
Springs protested with hoarse creaks;
Action figures stood sentinel.
- Eyes closed
Images arose;
Us at eight
Drawing ‘till late.
I used his blue
He took my red;
We filled the page
Emptied our heads.
The TV played
Midnight shows;
We were absorbed
In the floor below.
2
Jesse, I asked the silent room,
When did we lose that world?
Tell me, please.
- Upon, upon the sun-starved ground,
In the forest that we had found,
Far from the houses that crowded our thoughts,
Far from the people who shouted us silent,
Under the branches that shielded us from God–
I opened my eyes,
To the pale glow of plastic stars
Stuck to the ceiling;
I contemplated constellations.
3
Moved from the bed.
Pulled out a dormant dresser drawer.
Examined a painted shell.
Ran a finger along the teeth of a comb.
Sniffed a bottle of cologne.
- Recall the road five summers ago,
When we drove to Mexico without a map.
Like falling leaves desiring the ground,
We followed any way that led south.
Once the signs were all in Spanish,
We turned west seeking the sea.
Finally arriving at a brown-grey beach,
We were surprised to find it nearly empty;
A man struggled to push a cart along the coast,
A pair of seagulls drifted mournfully just offshore,
A cold wind swept sand in our eyes.
Amarillo, he said, pointing.
I followed his finger to a kite,
Palpitating above the horizon.
March 22, 2010
Trespassing
by rcribay
Like thieves, we stole through the night.
We waited for the last pair of taillights to pass
and then crossed the street in the vacuous silence of their wake.
You were several steps ahead,
familiar with the way.
The school was immutable in its brick slumber.
We pressed our faces to cold glass and peered
into darkened classrooms populated by slouched shadows.
Emergency exit signs reflected gently in waxen linoleum,
lingering like lipstick.
We continued to the back of the building,
half carried on rebellion’s breeze,
half scared we’d see the principal or a cop or my mom.
Our steps scraped echoes from the parking lot pavement,
we exhaled momentary contrails into the autumn air.
This is it, you said, as if to God,
in front of a tall conglomeration of metal vents and conduits,
set in gravel, surrounded by chain link fence.
You began to climb and I followed,
the delinquent rattle of our ascent shaking the evening calm.
The rooftop surprised our feet with skull-sized stones.
The deep knocks of their shifting gave our steps new meaning
as we moved across the sky.
You sat confidently on the ledge,
took a cigarette from your front coat pocket and lit it.
It was then I nearly pushed you,
my head flashing with lightning rage–but it passed.
I sat a few feet from your oblivious form,
requested a cigarette, and surveyed the sleeping town
from those three stories
that seemed like thirty that night.
March 14, 2010
one-on-one
by rcribay
rains falls, grim and grey
the park is empty–
soaked mud leaks in streams
across sidewalks like
pulsating coffee veins.
but at one hoop
the wet thuds of diminished dribbles
a small boy shoots
his watery reflection in the inverted world
following his every move.
March 12, 2010
The Founding of Boston, Or: How to Build The Worst Place in the World (A Revision)
by rcribay
Step 1: Abolish the Sun
surreptitiously slip it under the mattress
inside the air duct or wrapped up in a pair of soiled socks.
that shit should be harder to find than porn.
it should be gone so long people forget its color forget its purpose
forget the fact we orbit the fucking thing and begin to think
earth drifts listlessly on a blank page.
Step 2: Institute Permanent Cloud Cover
throw a big sheet of depressing gloom over the sky
it should be soaked thick with soviet cement
so uniformly it numbs minds
crushes souls acts as a collective headstone
making people constantly contemplate
and compose inevitable epitaphs.
Step 3: Mandate Rain
get those fuckers wet.
go ahead and reroute the seas to the skies
and revise the water cycle to skip condensation
in compensation for perpetual precipitation.
it should soak through boots socks skin sink in to bones
till they’re less likes stones more like foam.
it should create standing puddles so immense passing cars
kick tidal waves—or sink like ships into an abyss.
Step 4: Decree Decreased Temperatures
slow down molecules to a near fucking standstill
but never grant them the soft relief of an absolute zero sleep.
it should be so cold skin dries cracks bleeds without provocation.
passing pedestrians should be reduced to pairs of eyes
peering hopelessly from piles of outerwear
on the precipice of petrification.
Step 5: Enact Gale-Force Gusts
let trees street signs and people bend at seventy degree angles.
it should be so windy windows shake nearly shattering
rain from step three should be redirected horizontally
and together with the wind should pluck umbrellas from fierce grips
turn them inside out or send them sailing
leaving the defeated drenched denizens woefully wondering
“Why the fuck do I live here?”
March 8, 2010
To Be Half
by rcribay
I. Thoughts
I imagine your [ ] on the other side of the world
how the [ ] softly against skin as you [ ]
seashell seaweed jetsam-peppered sand
[ ] so as not to break skin
You: contemplating [ ]
carefully selecting one suitable for sitting, then: [ ]
now: drawing legs up [ ] them with arms
a socially acceptable [ ]
II. The time apart
:as death
:slowly disappearing
:is another place of absence
:although it is inevitable that
:will forget me
:as close to the end as possible
:freckled
:meant for me.
III. The Shore
I imagine your life on the other side of the world :as death
how the sunlight presses softly against skin as you walk :slowly disappearing
seashell seaweed jetsam-peppered sand :is another place of absence
stepping softly so as not to break skin :although it is inevitable that
You: contemplating shoreline stones :will forget me
carefully selecting one suitable for sitting, then: sitting :as close to the end as possible
now: drawing legs up encircling them with arms :freckled
a socially acceptable self-hug :meant for me.
March 6, 2010
Vernal Vivacity
by rcribay
FUCK the fact
the air’s still cold
the wind still blows
the birch is bare–we
bare our brilliant skin to defy
winter’s withering grasp we
lie in grass as if it were sand we
talk outside of things irrelevant
just to be irreverent we
don’t need leafy green trees just
give us the sun–
we’ll take the ‘verse.
March 4, 2010
truth and beauty
by rcribay
is it the poet’s purpose
to deliver doses of truth
that awake sleepers and set
fires in their bellies
or
should the poet
sculpt beauty from the empty
space of a blank page
leaving no trace?
truth and beauty
revolution or aesthetics
prophecy or pilgrimage?
March 1, 2010
The Frozen Mud
by rcribay
I saw at my foot footprints, en-
cased in muted mud, mid-step mire set silently within
A topography of time, a grey ground frozen
The echoes of shoes–seemingly size ten–a lasting last impression
A patch work of paw prints, wildly weaves widely again and again
The bike tire’s vast, violent arc cuts with impatient determination
Across orphan patches of untouched earth. My eyes enliven
This sculpted ground–shadows casting imagination!
Marvelous movements of time and space, run, ride, reel, and hark!
See the life that lives on lunar land: when you think
the play’s performed, this spectral stage stirs the heart!
This makes me wonder: what traces of invisible ink
You left upon the blue-blank pages of that air afar;
And should I see could I read or would I–sink?
