Port of the gull,

The gale, the Grail,

Lost information,

Hidden in code.

Only feel it in your soul,

And know what secrets have been lost

Through the ages.

Then toss that feeling to the wind,

Rescind the payment you made

And sail away,

Into the day where you own the rights

To make decisions that reflect 

Who you are.

You are powerful in this place,

In your heart,

And here, in mine.

With one friend, like me,

You can be free to be

Happier than ever!

-jenn

My junior high coach died two weeks ago,

And they couldn’t have a funeral

Because of Coronavirus.

He drove a school bus, taught science,

And coached football and tennis

For over thirty years n my hometown.

But mostly he taught us not to act

Like a bunch of GO-RILLAS, as he said,

And we’d see him driving a big oil truck

And fixing up Volkswagens all summer long,

To make extra money to provide for his wife

And their three kids.

He picked me up on the bus

Every morning since I was nine,

And everyday I would get on the bus

And tell him a joke,

And he would laugh so loud,

Throw his head back, open his mouth 

So wide in a smile, then call me a squirrel

And tell me to sit down.

No one could go to

Pay their respects,

And everybody wanted to.

So the whole town lined up

Outside the funeral home by the hearse,

And when the family came out after a short memorial service,

And began to drive to the cemetery,

They saw that the people of our town

Had lined up on both sides of the road 

For five miles,

Waving purple and gold streamers for Coach,

And for his family,

All the way to the gates of the graveyard.

-jenn

When I have a quiet thought of you,

Nothing else can get through it.
You saturate me,

Like strawberries in sugared juice

Sluicing through my angel food cake,

Now the only thing to do

Is put whipped cream on top.

When I have a quiet thought of you,

As I walk through the village,

As morning clouds are still distilling

Dew upon the ground,

Only the sounds of the Big Bells calling

From somewhere far away,

Can stray into my mind

And take me further along midstream.

And yet I find, you’re already there,

In my daydream, waiting for me.

-jenn

The class was just about to start.

I got ready.

I took my big beige sweater off,

Revealing my stark white gi underneath.

I had one toe on the mat,

And then I saw who was teaching it today.

In one motion, I swooped my bulky sweater 

Back over my bare pink arms,

And side-skipped excitedly across the mat,

Back into the dressing room.

I will do my own version of a workout

In here, where no one can see me.

-jenn

I thought I caught a whiff of rain.

Maybe it’s only someone watering her garden.

Do I smell smoke?

The clouds are low.

The sky looks fake on days like today.

I don’t know if there’s a fire somewhere or not.

This is all I’ve got—this life,

This now,

And how much better it may be

Is someone else’s lie.

As for me, I’ll tell you true,

I love you, now.

So what does that make me?

-jenn 

I do want another chance

To be me.

When I wake up in tomorrow land

And rub the sleeping sand from my eyes

And survey the EtherWilde’s I inhabit 

I pray, that I will somehow know

What I know now,

That it’s ok to be me.

I hope I’m free to be myself,

And if I’m not,

I pray that I will fight

For my right to be,

And I pray that you will, too,

That you will fight for your right to be

Uniquely you.

-jenn

Spring has come,

And girls have traded coats

For pink tops and open-toed shoes,

And I’m still wearing burnt orange,

Long sleeves and boots,

And everyone else may forget about you,

But not me, I’m haunted

By your alluring kelpie.

It is in style these days to appear 

As though one is talking to oneself.

Bluetooth apperati allow for this,

So I can get away with that,

But what will people on the street 

Think when they see me air-kiss

The beautiful ghost that they can’t see.

I’m going to make the most of this,

This haunting in broad daylight,

This spectral sight of spectacle

That is visibly me, and invisibly you,

Stuck in autumn, in love,

On this sunny afternoon.

-jenn

They said they’d had to house the Women’s Studies Department 

In with the real man sciences which had properly funded themselves

Because the Women’s Studies Department 

Couldn’t seem to generate enough funds

To sustain a self-sufficient status.

It seems the Women’s Studies Department 

Had hit a sort of intramural glass ceiling

Which couldn’t be denied.

But the administrators did admit

That gynecology could prove lucrative,

If any of them wanted to give up 

Their silly midwifery classes

And pursue obstetrics instead.

-jenn

Her mother said I ruined her picture because 

I asked her a question as she was posing

All alone in her cap and gown,

“So there’s no graduation ceremony this year?

How do you feel about that?”

Her mother grimaced and answered for her,

“Terrible!” she said,

“But maybe they’ll have one in the fall instead.”

I thought of my two worthless degrees

From the university,

And how I elected not to attend 

Either of those graduations,

And smiled.

“You look very beautiful,” I told the girl,

“And you seem very smart and intelligent.”

I waved my arm to the east, over the campus,

“You don’t need all this to be a success.”

I hope she finds exactly her true life

In this ‘new normal.’

I hope we all do.

There are parts of it I like, I guess,

But then again, I’ve never been one 

For Pomp and Circumstance.

-jenn

The city has canceled magnolia from blooming,

Forbid them to open,

Forbid them to bloom,

Except in cases of essential exception,

And only if they provide touchless delivery.

What will the loving magnolia trees do?

Will they worry?

Will they fret?

They said to hell with the recommended

Styrofoam take-out containers!

They’re not going to wait for cities to proclaim 

Some artificial date!

They will bloom with dignity, without fear,

At a time that seems right

And proper to their souls.

-jenn

I’d had one true love,

And I was forced to break up with him

By my parents because he was Church of Christ.

And in a dream, I realize that this

Is the source of my trouble today.

This trauma cut a wound into my soul

And a demon came in through that opening.

It has been with me 37 years now,

Tormenting me in regard to love,

Telling me nothing else would ever be the same,

Or right, that nothing ever could,

Dangling an empty carrot out

For me to chase, ever searching,

Never finding any relief or satisfaction. 

Then I hear a word of peace.

The Spirit of the Lord speaks,

“Meditate.

This kind can only be removed by prayer and fasting.”

The dream has reopened the old wound.

Prayer and fasting will prevail.

Now the demon can escape.

It has been trapped, too,

With me, for all these years.

But I’m going to be happy, today, and satisfied.

-jenn

The visage in the quick silver stream

Of time is never twice the same.

Step in again and see

How different your hair is,

How much your smile has changed.

Your pale skin has blushed,

Or tanned, or paler still.

Your weight has changed,

Your muscle tone,

The roughness of your whiskers gone,

And been replaced by silky down

Of eider duck or lily smooth

As water nymph kisses,

Or gruff again as ogre’s teeth.

But Narcissisus in the mirror,

Can only ever hear dear Echo as she speaks,

Only because her lonely words

Are his.

Can any of us ever really hear a new thought,

A new idea,

Unless we’ve already thought of it ourselves?

-jenn

My real life is hidden in a dream,

And so I only live when I’m asleep.

I go to exciting places where

I’ve never been, and see strange things 

I’ve never seen, and meet interesting people,

And find exotic ways to come to be

Friends with them and get to know

The way they like to be

When they’re alone.

But when I wake,

I have to cook and clean

The same old things

Over and over,

And care for those

Who share my dna,

And when they’re cross with me,

And say things don’t taste right,

And don’t seem to be 

The way they ought to be,

I stare at them,

And wish that they could see

Who I am at night,

The things I do in my dreams,

Then they would know,

That I wear the pajamas in this family!

-jenn

I’d gone back to a hometown fair

And people kept talking bout the good old days 

Reminding me of dreams that I’d had as a child

And offering me ratty options to do em

Then I stumbled in to a viewers’ booth

Where ya could listen to songs people wrote

And one of them was by my old jr hi coach

And I always really liked her

So I sat down and picked out that number

The music started like Beatles and Stevie Wonder 

Then the words came and I couldn’t get over

What a punch they had

If I could get you away from here

I’d marry you

And you get you outta here

Take ya back East

Where we could make money

Take you to Europe feed you the country

Honey and wine, sweet baklava 

Listen to Mozart and play old clavichords 

Read you the classics and go see the paintings

Look at the charters in Latin and the ancient ruins

Last night I thought we could hop on a plane 

But today I woke up and it’s Easter again

It’s Easter again it’s Easter again in Cross Plains

The world is large and there’s better places

Faces that might understand 

And we could be a part of the —revolution 

Or at least we could see the world

I want to get out, get you out of here

And take you to the near East—-

And the far one

You’re a star, I just gotta

Just gotta —-get you outta here

Last night I thought we could hop on a plane 

But today I woke up and it’s Easter again

It’s Easter again it’s Easter again in Cross Plains

There’s grass growin and no one to mow it

There’s things to know and nobody knows it

But it’s Easter again 

Easter again in Cross Plains

-jenn

When I reach for a thing

And my hand hits the mirror 

I gotta remember the object’s closer

Than it appears

There’s something here

I feel it between us

I’ve seen it in your eyes

Maybe I’m

Closer than I ought to be

But there’s a part of me

Dancing in your fire

Dance with me

Can’t you see

A part of you

Dancing here with me

They tell me at school to be sweeet

And how I oughta be

If I want to get someone to like me

That I’m a part of a civilized tribe

But there’s a part of me

That wants to build a fire

And then hold their feet to it

Pull their toenails out by the root

Eradicate them from my mind

For not liking me the way I am 

For telling me how sweet I oughta be

When I look at myself in the mirror 

I see the war

I see it clearer than the letters in their books

And the dirty looks I get when I’m not

What they call sweet

I’ve got your picture tucked into the frame of my mirror

The regal headdress

The savage seriousness

On your face

I brush my hair

Maybe I’m

Closer than I ought to be

But there’s a part of me

Dancing in your fire

And there’s a part of you

Dancing here with me

-jenn

She has a blue collar way of putting on lipstick,

Shading it with her hand 

Laid over the top to hide it,

Like a blue collar way

Of smoking a cigarette.

She has a blue collar approach 

To picking up men in bars.

She brings her metal lunchbox in

And opens her thermos,

Pours herself a cup of joe

While she waits for her

Union sanctioned break to be over. 

Then it’s back to coke and Jack Daniels 

And finding herself a nice

Blue collar lover to cuss with.

-jenn

I’m writing this one just for you.

I hope you see through my vain attempts

To get you to like me.

What I want is that you don’t,

So I won’t be disappointed 

When you get to know me,

And retreat like glacier patterns

On boulders toward the poles.

I’m magnetized by granite blocks,

And quartz transmitters in my heart

Continue to emit.

Even though my phone alerts me

To the fact that the message has no subject,

I continue to “send anyway?”

And there is a lovely message in here,

If you read between the lines.

I’ve encoded valentines and candy hearts

To tickle your fancy,

If you can see me beyond

The rote transmission I’m required to send,

And there beneath it all, the unrequited love.

-jenn

I finally wore out my Miles Davis album 

And had to find another one.

This one has even more songs,

But my favorite ones come in a rearranged order.

I forget I’m listening,

Then the bottom drops out of my heart like grief,

As if, by ice dropping into a glass,

Or at the first hearing of the familiar piano,

I might see a love I used to know.

Then I remember everything, 

About my life,

And even things I never knew

About Miles...

Like how he grew up in East St.Louis,

In a day, when most black Americans We’re barely paid, still almost considered slaves.

His dad was an oral surgeon, and they had money,

But it didn’t afford them the luxury

Of escaping family tradition.

The irony of his dad’s attacks against his mother

Was one, in particular, in which 

He knocked all her front teeth completely out,

And she had to find another oral surgeon 

In town to help her.

His parents pushed him to attend the Juliard  School of music,

Wanting to influence him classically,

But he took up with the trumpet,

And made his debut in jazz and blues,

For what else is there?

I pull the plug on the bathtub before I’m through,

And hurry to scrub my dirty feet

Before the rest of the water drains.

This way I’m dry as I emerge,

And I don’t have time to give in to the urge to cry.

Now, I’m steeled for the day,

In case happiness try and sway me

To some more classical way to be,

By one strong shot of half-ass Juliard,

And a pint of finely aged “So What?”

-jenn 

I know we’re too tall to get married under this tree,

But at least come sleep with me under it.

Who knows what effect the moon may have.

Sometimes it’s so bright that

Mimosas bloom at night,

And who could tell with the smell

Of wisteria so heavy in the lightened air.

Some say there is a stairway to heaven,

But others say the Psyche is a butterfly 

With her own wings, and doesn’t need

Contraptions of any kind to find her way

To any place she truly longs to be.

And I know we’re too tall to get married under this tree.

But, at least, come sleep with me, under it.

-jenn

I’m in some very busy attire,

My pants on fire,

‘Cause I just lied to my mama.

“Where ya goin’?”

“You don’t wanna know,”

Is what I should’ve said.

That’d be true,

But I told her something acceptable 

As I flounced out the door.

But will two wrongs make a right,

When I come in, later tonight,

And she asks me how I am?

I’ll lie again, and tell her I’m alright.

Will two lies make it true?

Who knows, but at least

I won’t hear her say,

“I told you so,” again.

-jenn

They arrested her because she owed

Back child support,

Took her out of a shack in South Caroline.

They cleared the house,

Her granny and four grown men up in there,

Along with her twin sister, as skin and bone as she was.

Her hair hung down long

Below her hips,

Her jeans barely hung on to her

As the officer searched them.

A pocket knife on a heavy chain

And one nickel

Was all the officer found, and a cigarette,

Which she smoked on the way

To the back of the cop car.

And we’d all like to tell ourselves,

That a study between these twins,

Not separated at birth,

But re-environmented by this fork in their divergent trails,

Will show the incarcerated one

To emerge, as better off,

With her GED,

Her long hair doffed and coiffed, 

And styled and taught 

To dress like a lady,

And to talk like one ready for an interview 

As a bank teller

Or some other respectable profession.

But nevertheless,

Whether it’s the bank branch manager

Or the pimp on the street

Callin’ the shots and takin a cut,

At least this gal had someone

She could tell to go get her shoes and socks

And to put ‘em on her feet

Before she went to jail,

But after she got out,

Not so much, and 

She’s still gonna owe that child support.

-jenn