Anything green helps

He'd started off in Wichita at age 14. Stole his father's van and ran away. Got in some trouble, and had to run away some more. Is he still running? No, somewhere in there he somehow became an adult and chose to be "gypsy, nomad, without house." He's ow in his early 40s, likes his lifestyle, and he likes to sleep outside. Where next? Around this island. Been to the Big Island. He smiles, gap toothed. Pahoa, back in the woods. Some hippy life there. Had a good time. I hold out my hands, to show that I have nothing on me to give him, though the camera's nice (I think to myself). It's ok. He thanks me for talking to him. An ordinary man in camouflage pants and jacket, at least two chokers around his neck, a metal plaque across his forehead below a mohawk, cigarette held in his right hand, away from where you could read, "Anything green helps" on cardboard.

A woman with tattoos

She leaned over a faucet to pour water in a vase, the woman dressed in gray blue scrubs, a thin screen of ehu hair falling over her glasses. I asked if I could see the tattoos on her arm, take a picture of them (that came later). "Those are my children's names in Filipino," she said. Her other arm was inked, too. And she pulled her scrubs up a bit to show me a botanical drawing on her lower right side. "My 19 year old daughter made that; she's the one with talent. I can't even draw a stick figure!"

 

She was visiting her father's grave on the 25th anniversary of his death. Not by natural causes, she said. We both paused, then she said he'd been murdered with a gun. She'd asked for the day off but was denied by her manager, so she'd get to work late. When I noted that businesses are cruel, she said the owner was kind and family-oriented, but the manager had let things get to her head, and she'd hired someone else who'd done the same. She could have been manager, but work is her place to rest, and she didn't want more responsibilities, what with raising five children on her own. 

 

"I was the black sheep," she said. Her mother had survived her husband's death by focusing on the grandchild she had not long after, her oldest son. But they don't talk now. She goes to therapy, but her mother thinks she should have been fixed already. She knows her mother won't validate her, but it's hard. She knows her mother is suffering.

 

I told her some stories back, about my mother's refusal to grieve for my father; about the therapist who told me to stop trying to have a conversation with her; about trying to get my father's ashes out of Arlington, about my workplace. We hugged, and I told her I would be thinking of her. I am and I will be.

A mysterious man at the bus stop

It seemed a koan. The white man seated at the bus stop wore fashionable glasses (clear plastic frames) that matched his gray/white hair and his big toothy (good toothy) smile. A healthy brown dog lay in front of him, came to greet Lilith as we came by. On the man's right wrist I noticed a paper hospital bracelet. The man's legs were rough, with scabs near his knees, and he was barefoot, feet ashen with dirt. He asked if there were taxis around here, to which I said I hadn't seen one in a long time. Uber, I suggested. He wanted to spend $15 to get himself home to a shower. He's from Keolu Hills near the Shack. I suggested he wait until the bus driver returned; there are buses that will get him there. He smiled his bright smile and wished us a good day, as Lilith and I headed toward the shopping center.

 

I and Eucalyptus is now available as Io ed Eucalipto!

Also from lavenderink.org in New Orleans, edited by Bill Lavender. Translated by Pina Piccolo and Maria Louisa Vezzali.

 https://www.lavenderink.org/site/shop/io-ed-eucalipto/?v=a906dcd34dae

 

Also available at amazon. 

Long live Emperor Don!

As S. leaned over to move orange cones at the cemetery, I called out, "I guess the Padres are good this year!" "So far," he responded. "And I guess the Dodgers lost a lot of fans recently," I continued. "Why?" "Because they went to the White House," I said. "Oh half of them are fake fans," he said. I muttered something about a fake president.

 

"Oh yes, the Emperor!" S. said.

 

We were now face to face, and I detected a slight smile on his face. "Are you kidding me?"

 

"Oh no, and he'll give it all to his sons."

 

"Are you being sarcastic?"

 

"Absolutely not."

 

"Do you favor a monarchy, then, instead of a democracy?" I asked.

 

"Absolutely. And we haven't been a democracy for over 170 years."

 

"Well, we've never been a true democracy, but we've also never been a monarchy. Why are you in favor of that?"

 

"It's human nature," he said. Adding, "I'll bet you like that actor, Zelenskyy. He's killing Ukraine. So dishonest."

 

"I think Russia's killing Ukrainians," I said.

 

"They're just trying to get their territory back. Russia's the most honest country in the world right now. And Putin's better than Trump."

 

"He's even more cruel than Trump," I injected.

 

"Oh no, Putin's the best leader in the world."

 

********

This must be the play that six characters were looking for.

Uncle Don and my 401K

Uncle John was talking to a woman with a long-lensed Nikon at the cemetery guard shack. As Lilith and I exited the cemetery, I said pointedly, "My 401K is NOT great again!" "Oh, just wait," he said. "It's a disaster," I responded, making an odd improvisational salute. Uncle got the final words. "Uncle Donny, I LOVE him!"

LAX, April 1, 2025

Just past customs--nothing to declare--

weeping, gnashing, keening

man on floor   head and hair in hands

brown napkin set neatly beside him

as if to hold a pebble there

weeping, keening, gnashing

"He is weeping" I heard my voice

phalanx of silent guards standing

one guard's eyes focused on a middle

distance as underneath him

man weeping gnashing keening 

 

Failed to take a photograph

Failed to lean over to touch him

Failed to say to the guard the man

was suffering sentient agony

public stage like a creche

the man a holy infant hurt

Pilgrims flowing by self-

contained controlled hurrying

in our bodies striding past 

my husband so intent on making

our connection he failed

to hear this primal sound

 

May he be free of suffering

happy (if such is it)

free from this stage/cage prison

echo chamber  did you hear

him my fellow travelers can you

move away without coming

back to anguish

shared but not spoken

no eyes in contact

no water bottle

no tissue

We made our flight--