to home (wherever that may be)

we shall be as a city upon a hill

the phone rang that cold november morning

and mother took her apron off,

leaving us alone in the kitchen.

my brother ate his gerber strapped in his high chair,

i stared at the porridge i couldn’t bring myself to eat,

a spatchula stuck in the frying pan on the stovetop.

the pontiac engine turned-over in the garage and,

in the gear carefully painted R in white,

mother backed down the pebble driveway.

father had been ill that winter,

but he went to work anyway –

mother said he didn’t love her, didn’t love us,

i covered charlie’s ears as they fought at night.

They said he died a peaceful death,

mother said it was suicide

(he didn’t love us, in gin-soaked breath).

i didn’t listen to mother when she said father was a –

a coward.

they took us away that winter.

they said she couldn’t raise us anymore.

i was young, but i knew that that place was never home.

10 Sept 2010 C.D.S.

dreamscape manifesto

i dream of russia,

yet you speak to me

in clumsy italian

& this puzzles me

as black smoke

slowly suffocates us

through defected

gas masks –



i hold your hand

as we fall through

crevasses in the

dry ground

& onto a boat in the

mediterranean/

the air is clean here,


your asthma will


not bother you



you tied a blue

bandana to my

forehead, laughing

at my long face

& pointing out my

small ears

you are such a


silly boy, andrius!

you call my name

in lithuanian,

reminding me that

it means warrior /



i’m not a warrior


but i’d gladly fight


if you were in danger


because i care about you

& you just stared at

me and then you

turned away with a

frown



i notice we are in a

new place, you calling it

home –

& i ask you where

home is and you

just giggle saying

where one starts from

as if you were

eliot himself



you wore my

sandles down the

beach in your sunday

dress with your hat

& i was not ashamed

to be with you with

my pants legs rolled

like the elderly men

who stroll the shore

checking their

crab traps



you told me to

close my eyes

for just a moment

& then we were in

the old house you

grew up in.

your babushka sat there

in her rocker

telling us of the war and

her byelorussian childhood –

we are partisans


who have shot at


german soldiers

said the sign

that hung about the

body of her brother

in that grim image

she tried to forget



i fear for our lives, andrius,

as if we are in danger

here among the olive trees

& you sit trying to

convince me that rasputin

was a holy man/

your father puts those lies


into your head.


ask babushka,


he was an evil man

but you turn away,

disinterested in my

opinions on the past



you seem so innocent

as you sit on the grass

& weave flower crowns/

lidyja,


do you remember when


we were young?



i awake to the sound

of a ceiling fan

& you aren’t there

C.D.S. 2 September 2010

je l'ai vue rire

"Your deeds are famous,so stay resolute, my lord,
defend your life now with the whole of your strength. 
I shall stand by you." - from Beowolf

a year more,
only a year more,
that is all

you are not 
that much older
than me


are you
listening?


no,
you never do -
i forget you are busy

you want children
but you worry 
about your figure

i say you don't
need to worry 
about that


you are so 
beautiful
and i
just...

i need to breathe.

you dress in
basketball shorts,
very unlady-like
if you ask me -
i don't mind though


you wear your 
hair down - 
it is messy,
tangled by 
the wind

life goes on, 
life goes on,
this i have learned

and one day
you may be
mine

C.D.S. 1 September 2010

to the lady ornate

Take this "I will always love you" waltz

In Vienna I will dance with you
in a costume with
a river's head.
                            - from "Little Viennese Waltz" by F.G. Lorca
                 



you are a
true poet...
unlike me.
i will gladly
give up
everything
to understand
you.
you are...
beautiful,
but in an
unconventional way,
and i admit
i am obsessed with
you.

you aren't like
other girls...
long skirts,
no make-up,
quiet,
polite,
softly-spoken,
and...
lonesome,
for lack of
a better word.
you are
unusual,
to say the least.

you write on
your hands -
who would ever
write on their hands?
mother says it is
unlady-like -
curlicues
and antiquities
flourish in
your penmanship.
you write frantically,
not letting the idea
slip away...
how i wish to know
what you are writing!

i put my head down,
keep it there.
my tea is getting cold.
we haven't spoken
since i first sat down.
you stand,
smile,
take up your
belongings,
good-day, sir,
and you walk
away.

C.D.S. 29 Aug 2010

Nyctophobia

birds were bathing in the gutter,
something i have never seen
(my, the copper has turned green!)
they chirp and shake,
splashing water to the ground.
mommy,
what is it like to be
blind?
people go blind in our family.
it's hereditary -

i close my eyes,
imagine eternal darkness:
macular degenteration runs in my family.
i don't like the dark.

the clouds go away swiftly,
grey and white races across the sky
revealing a pastel blue
and a pink in the distance -
nightfall is coming,
it will be dark soon.
i'm scared of the dark.

C.D.S. 30 August 2010

Autumn Comin'

For Mrs. Christie Elkins

Lord,
It's been a long summer -
The heat done took
Some crops, a cow,
And a little bit of all of us,
But, Lord,
We gonna be just fine.
I's been watchin',
And that harvest moon,
All big and orange,
Is coming,
Oh, Lord,
Don't you know!
And, honey,
The weathers been
Mighty pretty
For August in Mississippi.
Won't be long till
We's out on the field
Harvestin' and watchin'
Them green leaves turn brown.
Oh, the Lord doth provide,
Oh, yes He do!
Lord,
There's good times a-comin' -
Someone hold my mule:
I gotta shout!

C.D.S. 25 Aug 2010

just a quick thought after a glance

you sit in the back –
wearing your
pink sweater
and putting on
chapstick.
you take off
your sunglasses
and that smile
of yours makes
me forget that
i am not dreaming.
you run your
fingers through
your long brown
hair and turn the
dial to the station
we like the best.
i watch your lips
move to the words
that we have sung
in your room a
thousand times –
such sweet memories.
your perfume
and my cologne
compliment each
other as the wind
mingles them
together.
we are almost
home but i’ll
see you
tomorrow.

C.D.S. 22 August 2010

a lover's musings

let your hair fall

down on your back –

long nights of

cigarettes and

coffee-stains on

our clothes

(bring them by

my place tomorrow

you say

i will clean them

for you.)

you need to rest

now though.

put your

slim, soft, young

bare body

between the sheets

and i’ll go sleep
on the couch.

you need to sleep.

rest up now,

love.

you wake up.

(coffee and fruit

on the counter,

the toast and

marmalade are

on the table,

i love you.

i write in on

a note for you.)

you notice i’m

asleep on the couch

and you come over

to kiss my head,

 but i don’t budge.

i’m sorry for that

but i know you

understand.

let us go then

and have a

good day –

dance about in

oxfords and

my boxers to

our indie rock

albums,

go have gelato

at the parlour,

stroll the park

downtown.

(i look in your

eyes and

know that someday

i want to marry

you,

but when i say so

you just smile

and look down –

i smile and do

the same.)

the night comes

again:

a pack of camels

and some twinning’s

will get us

through the night.

i watch you

after you fall

asleep and

i realise how

lucky i am.

i don’t mind

that you take

my bed and i

take the sofa.

it’s okay with me

as long as i have

you.

C.D.S. 21 August 2010

unfinished, untitled

the feel of your hands
running down my arm
to grab my own hand –
for just a moment
(what feels as though forever)
i worry you are upset –
but then –
looking at your smile,
my own smile –
so long in hiding –
is given birth,
a thousand thoughts
sent trickling,
trickling
through my mind.

C.D.S. May 2010

Peccavi

I have cast myself to the wolves,

By my own accord have I been condemned,

I have procured my punishment,

Upon the consequences did I meditate,

Your Love, O God, I did deny.

Cast me not into aside into the flames, I beg!

Though I deserve worse,

Send chastisements and plague,

But have mercy on my soul,

I beg you, Lord.

A thousand times have You forgiven me,

And in return I betrayed you,

I am more at fault than any man,

And I do deserve damnation,

For my free will has purchased Hell.

But You, O Lord, art merciful,

And with the Centurion I cry:

Domine, non sum dignus, ut intres sub tecum meum,

Sed tantum dic verbo,

Et sanabitur anima mea.

C.D.S. June 2010