The Calendar: September 10th

The Calendar: September 10th
Janet I. Buck

Tomorrow’s it. The anniversary of terror.
White knuckling a simple task—
fetching a quart of milk.
Who’s sitting in the parking lot?
Stalking what he thinks a martyr ought to kill.
A bomb across his hairless chest,
no schoolbooks in tow—just a ready
butcher knife to fend off any
saviors in the car next door
Loosen up your seatbelt just in case he…

Try a writer’s ‘spa day’ in your head—
sketching out a poem in some dark corner
of a coffee shop, watching oak hands leave
their palms piled high against a curb.
A city watchman marks your tires—
you earn a fine for loitering
in search of peace.

Over goes the liquid fuel. Blinds slide closed.
No paper towels. No phalanx & no triage rites.
Another laptop up & dies. Just throw it out.
Go home. Kiss your husband on his salty lips,
cracked & bleeding over friends
he lost in recent wars. You sit.
He walks with eggshells ground into his boots.

Ditch bras of stanzas piled up
for fifteen years, let your breasts
sink quietly in harmony with creaking joints—
porch swings tired of rust & rain.
Stop questioning a godless world.
Take coffin hinges off your grocery list.

The bright Lucida of a constellation’s
truly meaningless, unless you alter
angles of your eyes. Open windows—call it art
despite the horseflies landing on wet paint.
Run hard. Run fast. Drop one tear in fountains
of persistent youth. Let Cassie, who is three,
trade a lunch of apple, cheese & blah tofu
for all the Oreos she wants.

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