Girls with Insurance

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Home Poetry Poetry DNA Comparisons With an Alter Ego & Other Poems

DNA Comparisons With an Alter Ego & Other Poems

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DNA Comparisons With an Alter Ego


I wear a farthing coin on a string

Around my neck

To remember

What it feels like to hear my voice scattered on the west wind.

There is a pattern in our DNA

That our lives are sewn around

And the ridged fingerprints of my ancestors are left inside--

Indentations on my aortic valves.

I tried to write a haiku:

Snow covered maple—

My mother’s bones wrapped around

Our long goodbye

And eleven words were not enough

To fill my pockets,

To fill the space between the sidewalk and the moon.

Is there topography for heaven, for purgatory, for nirvana?

A place where we can ask the questions that no one is willing to answer

 


Brady Street

For Isak


We walk together

And my patchouli has worn off.

The pubs, overfilled, spill onto Brady Street.

We stop because you find an abandoned piece of art—

You are always rescuing things that need their words

Peaced together to make sense.

We speak of old loves and the time you went shopping in the Taipei marketplace

And I ask you if it is frightening to fly

And you tell me that in midair, I need to let go

Like Karen Blixen when she flew over the Ngong Hills

With Denys and saw the world like God does.

And I think—You have put on the patchwork of the whole world,

You understand the greens and terracotta squares that we fly over.

And this is more than two women walking down a street—

This is two souls that have journeyed through several reincarnations together.

How else would you have known my fears before I spoke of them?

 

 

Dancing inside Tornadoes

 

 

i am from the Midwest and know
what tornado sirens sound like.
Walking the Ukrainian district in Chicago,
i see abandoned stores with icons left inside windows
and wonder if God knows they are still waiting for him
to come back and buy what he put on hold.
i can't understand the cyrillic,
but I see the foreclosure signs.
A lady who sells me matryoshkas, says the taxes have doubled
for small business owners.
How long we can dance inside this wind
with the lawn furniture and pieces of roof
until everyone is thrown outside under the L?
i have pasted my jobs together,
and hold them up to the sun to dry,
but my grip isn't strong enough
to keep them from flying under a bus.

 


Little Buddhas


My son plays his toy accordion

And it drifts outside and suddenly

Our kitchen is France

And it is quiet in our neighborhood

Except for the trees telling stories

And the children going from

House to house

World to world

Trains in the background

And sudden enlightenment:

These children are little Buddhas

Reminding me that this moment...

This is life.

 


Heather Ann Schmidt professes at Oakland Community College and edits tinfoildresses poetry journal. Her books include Channeling Isadora Duncan (Gold Wake Press) and The Owl & the Muse: Collected Tanka among others. Transient Angels and Red Hibiscus are coming soon from Crisis Chronicles Press. Find her at http://heatherannschmidt.yolasite.com.


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