Three Poems
Lisa, Now Don't You Cry For Me
Leave the rivers
to the rain. There's bread to be made.
Pancakes shaped
like the crook of a baby-slung arm. L
for Let-Nothing-Burn-On-The-Griddle
for Least-You-Could-Do.
Sing something.
That radio tune is rattling its
Baby don't you all over my dough
drowning out my prayers
for the yeast to return. Yes
tears are for washing the feet of the dead
but me, I've got a few more days
wearing gingham and eating
honey straight from the spoon. Child, you know
the bees keep humming
though we steal from them
through the smoke of rotton wood.
La De Dah
Will you take a look at Lisa?
That girl’s got her good jeans on
got cleavage peeking
see-through shirt
shoot, more like a bra
even got her mom waiting
in that beat-down Skylark
while she la-de-dah’s
in the health food aisle.
They don’t live but a block
from Salem Baptist.
You know the yard
with all the poppies
looking louder than a barn
full of she-cats in heat.
Last week, Aunt Lizzy saw them
stealing rose clippings
from Tonya’s trash bin.
Ain’t it just like the godless
to walk clear past
the bleeding stained glass
heart of Jesus
to dig through someone else’s garbage?
Lord knows the river Jordan
ain’t that wide.
Now don’t you forget
tell your daddy
Daisy Parker says Hi.
The Estranged Wife
Masquerades as Lisa
Must my lips press against my own
lips in the compact mirror you left behind?
She drapes the bedsheet over her shoulders
like a ghost, walks through the empty kitchen
wearing gingham and eating
honey straight from the spoon.
used the razor to sculpt her
pubic hair into hearts and arrowheads
pointing down
spread her legs
wide as the river delta
got her good jeans on
got cleavage peeking
Two bellies
under four breasts. Two rivers
parting four thighs. One hand
in her miniskirt and champagne flute
with her best swan neck poised
for the prize.
a red-lipped voice made of tobacco and words like
moss and moving
through loam.
but who doesn’t hum in place of lovemaking
I might as well be
an old crow on an old scarecrow's shoulder
a woman inside a woman’s body
and woman again. Double-
heavy like the moon.
Cows
both of them. The eyes of cows.
—Lisa McCool-Grime, Lompoc, CA
