Monday, October 31, 2005



This poem was influenced profoundly by Rochelle Owens, the brilliant, visionary, trail-blazing, "transgressive" (as used by Maurice Blanchot) playwright and poet. It is not about Rochelle; it is not "about" anything or any one, except in the sense that my heart has been damaged in only the way that other mothers of deployed military personnel understand. My deepest, most heartfelt respect goes out to all military moms.

Please offer a silent prayer this Veteran's Day...

photo: susan smith nash, minneapolis, minnesota - qui tollis peccata mundi, dona nobis pacem

def: A printed anthology of the works of one author or of writings on related subjects

The red pinpoints of light disappearing
Into an already blinded night;

The strange machine
That houses my soul, speeding off:

To a place where they spray hot oil on the roads,
And tempt me to test limits, crash into strange borders,

And meanwhile, my memories
Are vehicles exiting a blurry forest

Of signs, maps, and billboards,
I refuse to read, or remember.

When you left, I lost my bearings:
The gears of heaven locked in some unknowable drive.