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Spiritual Exercises

Page 2

by Mark Yakich


  On the couch, suffocated with teddy bear by husband.

  On the couch, smoke-drunk, throat full of puke.

  On the couch, struck by meteor of sizable dimension.

  On the couch, unidentified illness.

  On the kitchen floor, choked on olive pit.

  Choked on under-masticated slice of salami.

  Choked on walnut shell.

  Choked on cherry tomato, golden.

  Trapped in grain silo.

  Trapped in remote cave with vermin, after breaking leg.

  Mown down by best friend on ski slope; moguls.

  Sepsis.

  In a car at the bottom of a lake.

  With loved ones in a car, at the bottom of a lake, watching them go first.

  After a barroom fight, boozed, cirrhotic.

  Shot, randomly in the French Quarter.

  Shot, by unknown assailant.

  Shot, with gun purchased for the purpose of self-infliction.

  Shot, easily and without thought.

  Shot, left shoulder grazed, then shot again.

  Overdose.

  Heatstroke, hiking country roads, third day of vacation.

  Strangled with silk or wool scarf, depending on the season.

  Everest.

  Misadventure; cell phone, cliff.

  Misadventure; child, cliff.

  Bird strike.

  Run down by autobus, streetcar, or truck carrying fresh fish.

  Complications from diabetes, appendicitis, or face transplant surgery.

  Melanoma on cheeks and scalp.

  Uncontrollable nosebleed.

  Mudslide; humanitarian mission in Tajikistan.

  Odorless gas.

  Botched colonoscopy.

  Drowned in storm drain after flash flood.

  Asphyxiated due to buildup of deodorizing aerosol in a confined space.

  Bark scorpion bite, rabid dog bite, shark bite, near infinite number of

  fire ant bites.

  Cardiac arrest after severe exhaustion in hammock.

  Misadventure with lawn mower and cigar.

  Broadsword; schizophrenia.

  Lightning strike in Central Park during oral sex with gigolo.

  Anaphylaxis caused by bee sting or chickpea.

  Cancer of colon, esophagus, liver, or lungs.

  Cancer of tongue, pancreas, prostate, ovaries, breasts, or brain.

  Rectal cancer; starvation.

  Pulverization by immense object, such as construction crane ballast.

  Terrorist bombing.

  Drone, collateral damage.

  Decapitation by helicopter propeller.

  Multiple strokes.

  Stabbing and blood loss caused by shank, pencil, or chopstick.

  Mule.

  Bear mauling while on the lam.

  Cattle or bison stampede.

  Avalanche.

  Accidental lead poisoning.

  Arsenic or cyanide.

  Cannibalism; undisclosed business trip.

  Rusty razor blade; lockjaw.

  Baseball to the temple or chest.

  Influenza, diphtheria, malaria.

  Plane crash over Atlantic, Pacific, Arctic, or Indian Oceans.

  Plane crash on tarmac; fire engines directed to incorrect runway.

  Aneurysm.

  Mercury poisoning due to taking temperature with antique thermometer.

  Dysentery.

  Hot-air balloon malfunction after sudden squall.

  Ingested toothpick; peritonitis.

  Multiple-car crash on I-55.

  Huffing.

  Fork, toaster: electrocution.

  Tasered by law enforcement.

  Hernia, complications from surgery on.

  Falling coconut while retiring in Guam.

  Assassination.

  Extensive burns, tourist rocket launch failure.

  Paper cutter.

  Lethal injection.

  Waterskiing disaster with boat, buoy, and small boy.

  Lost at sea.

  Castaway.

  Lost.

  Lost.

  Lost.

  II

  MY FAITH

  Twice upon a time,

  Like a fish up a tree,

  Applaudable in its failure.

  PARENTING FROM CHICAGO TO ABU DHABI

  By cutting each grape into eighths,

  I protect small children from probable death.

  Too few people are prepared

  To do this. Yet one must not be afraid

  To smuggle a plastic knife on board

  A 787. It may be by design that I adore

  The children. But I won’t complain

  About my life’s station

  Or the depth of my pocket protector

  Fathoming. Because someday

  These children shall perhaps

  Outgrow a need for minced grapes,

  And I’ll be discarded as all things

  Made—well or not—in China.

  AUTISM

  Our daughter never puts her mind on display,

  Like a jewel too precious to own, or an animal

  Too wild to cage. At church she’s able to sit still,

  But then for weeks rattles off the names of poisonous

  Snakes and admonishes us that Knowledge lies

  Only outside of Creation. She stops playing in the yard

  Because the tomatoes have turned to apples,

  And tells this truth to dinner guests as though

  It’s a family secret. At night, she sings her brother

  To sleep with words like inchoate and caliginous.

  And when she loves, you had better pay more

  Than attention, because she does it like a curse

  And will punish you simply for bearing witness.

  MARRIAGE

  Whereas you can never truly

  Hold your own hand. Whereas

  Thieves work better in pairs.

  Whereas it’s difficult to hold hands

  And handguns at the same time.

  Whereas difficult, not impossible.

  A SONG MEANS LITTLE WITHOUT SEPARATION

  Hardly ever

  Did I blow your brothers

  In my mind—all three

  At once? I didn’t let anybody inside me

  You hadn’t already abandoned.

  So now I’m returning to our old kingdom,

  To lay our miscarried son

  On the surface of the pond

  We dug for him last July.

  And I will step into him like

  A canoe. Don’t try to stop

  Me. If we float

  I’ll write

  Again; if not, goodbye.

  LOVE POEM FOR EX-WIFE

  Everyone has a story

  He’s tired of telling.

  For example,

  A child dies and

  It’s as natural

  As a flower blooming.

  And a plane crash is,

  As you once said,

  Just a “plain crash”—

  No more absurd

  Than a bouquet

  Of fresh-cut flowers.

  But, love, never deny it—

  Nature’s an asshole.

  When I retire

  I’m going to camp out

  In the backyard,

  Every other night,

  And dream

  Of fucking you.

&nbs
p; OBJECT LESSON

  His six-year-old finally opened the bathroom door.

  Dripping wet, she held out a towel. “It’s beautiful, Dad.

  But it doesn’t work very well. It belongs in a museum.”

  She was right. He’d just thrown out the old towels

  And bought new ones, with stunning, intricate patterns

  Of loops and arabesques in bright beige and sea green.

  But they were too smooth on both sides and would

  Need dozens of washes before they’d feel okay.

  A week later his daughter, naked, leaving a trail of water

  Down the hall through the dining room and into the kitchen,

  Stood before him: “Where are all the towels?”

  He’d returned them to the store, but told her he’d mailed

  Them off to the children’s museum. “Why did you do that!”

  “You said they were too pretty,” he said. “I meant

  They shouldn’t be touched by anyone except me.”

  He looked into her eyes, as though they were not

  Part of her face, and led her by the hand to the bedroom,

  To the walk-in closet filled with his ex-wife’s clothes.

  “Use whatever you like but this,” he said, reaching

  For the nightgown. “It’s silk and won’t absorb a thing.”

  UNORIGINAL SIN

  Does everybody feel like a kink

  in the evolutionary chain, or was that merely us

  post-coitus at the All Seasons Inn?

  At the tail end of sex you didn’t climb

  out of my body; you entered it deeper as I pulled away.

  Booty, you said, glorifies gravity.

  When I told you I was appalled

  by your God, you asked me to strip in front of

  the Gideons, open to Romans 12:1,

  Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice,

  holy and pleasing. When I told you I was afraid of

  the sunrise, you said The sun never rises—

  only people do. That was the moment

  I loved only you. We were old,

  but we liked to watch the young

  lovers from behind stained curtains

  at the outdoor café, because they left us nothing

  more than platitudes to say.

  NAIVE CONVICTION

  Somewhere a millionaire lover is leaving you,

  Even if you’re the one flying closer to

  The speed of sound in the other

  Direction. You might offer

  To hike your pantalones up and down or sit hard

  On his face, periodically interlarding

  All the Spanish you can remember.

  But he’s not going to do you on his leather

  Office divan. It’s too expensive.

  If you want unmitigated affection,

  Go to the bank and stand underneath the cameras.

  (Don’t wear a bra.)

  Or call Momma while watching soft porn on TV.

  (Tears often require technology.)

  Whatever you do, don’t extend

  Your neck like a defeated mime and don’t send

  In a rhyme to do a bitch’s work. Anal sex

  Works best if the body beats the mind to it.

  LOVE POEM FOR EX-HUSBAND

  It’s true

  That when our daughter died

  I mended a hole

  In my favorite dress

  But then didn’t wear it to sit shivah.

  It’s also true that for a year

  I wrote and wrote and wrote

  Until my teeth hurt

  From sucking on pills and candies.

  But now there are only

  Two truths (no lie) left to me:

  I enjoy riding men in a blond wig

  Made out of her hair;

  And I’ll go to hell before

  I’ll give you back her dumb dog.

  ANTIDEPRESSANTS

  The mosquito in the room buzzes.

  It is Berryman without a tranquilizer.

  The poet’s quarrel with himself

  Turned out to be a battle with a god

  Gone to seed. I, too, feel

  The moron. No more sobbing

  On the top stair. No more delirious

  Laughter when the dive

  Doesn’t happen. Kingdom come

  Is here for this delicate bug and I

  Shall smash it in order to have

  Someone else’s blood on my hands.

  They say that to walk

  In another’s shoes first requires

  They are wearing shoes.

  They was probably a cobbler.

  Life is and is and is suddenly

  No joke. The Bhagavad Gita says,

  Do a thing not seeking its fruit.

  Does that mean I should

  Lick my fingers or simply

  Wipe the blood away?

  RETREAT

  One mustn’t imprison mystery in a phrase.

  But after ten days of silence I’m pretty good

  At pushing daylight around with the curtains.

  And I now understand that the way to my wife’s

  Heart is through the clothes dryer, setting

  The knob to permanent press for seventy minutes.

  Songs of anguish and songs of splendor often

  Sound exactly the same, and the snoring of

  An ocean usually puts us to sleep. But it pains me

  That I still haven’t learned how to swim, carry

  A tune, or grasp how I evolved into such an ass.

  Maybe evolution had nothing to do with it.

  FOR MY DAUGHTER

  I should have taught you that it’s easier

  To forgive a malignant person than a malignant tumor.

  I should have taught you to undo hate

  By the minutes spent with relatives in peace and quiet,

  By the blanks nobody knew were empty.

  Sometimes the obvious stated with clarity

  Has consequences. Speak when broken.

  Ache when opened. The best one can

  Say about the world is: Author Unknown.

  Still, I try following the path of Sister Gertrude Morgan,

  Picturing God nearby in order to keep me

  Far away from you. If you ever feel

  The need to talk to me again, I grant

  You permission to write any sentence you want.

  HALFWAY THROUGH LIFE

  We went as far as the car would take us.

  We who crossed paths with the bus

  and lived the whole afternoon through.

  We who used to ride bikes like horses,

  high enough on the bridle

  to touch the animals’ ears with our own.

  We who loved our parents because

  it felt like winning a contest. Then,

  for a moment winning became a terrible

  noise. For a moment being a parent was

  knowing that the purpose of devotion is

  oblivion, and that oblivion rests on

  further tests: It’s a tumor, Dad, we said.

  With our hands around our necks,

  we didn’t worry about being dramatic,

  because crossing the parking lot

  made as little sense as crossing

  over the Lethe. Later, we should have

  told him not to worry about anyone

  seeing him cry. Those Red Cross
r />   nurses, with their morphine boats,

  went on killing the same number of moths

  as they did butterflies . . .

  THERE IS NO DOUBT

  Mother thought grief would be romantic,

  Like euthanizing a dove with one solid crack.

  It was like having to clutch an unclothed

  Baby who urinates from both ends.

  She imagined she’d shave her head

  And run off to a seasonless island

  In the Pacific. She just

  Drove to the coast and wept

  In the car because it stalled on

  The overlook and she had to call her son.

  On the day of the funeral, she expected

  To be full of shame for acting

  Like a machine. It was like the day

  Her dentist replaced a filling and failed

  To notice—until she pointed it out—

  That she had a meticulous bite.

  She smiled for him through clenched teeth.

  It was the only time she ever felt right.

  MINDFULNESS

  Truthfully

  There is no

  True thought.

  No puddle

  In which to drown

  A toy poodle

  Without picturing

  Or framing

  A little old lady.

  In hospice care

  When my mother

  Could no longer

  Speak for herself,

  I reminded her

  Grandchildren

  That all was

  Okay: Excessive

  Flatulence is

  Harmless, mostly

  Involuntary,

  And cliché.

  PASTORAL

  The distance

  Between

  The old

  Bedridden

  Couple:

  Flashes of gold

  Beneath the fish-

  Pond ice.

  ELEGY FOR THE ENGINEER

  Thank you for helping design the guidance system

  That took the Apollo to the moon.

  Thank you for creating the radar-jamming equipment

  Northrop put into the F-15 fighter jet.

 

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