Death is a Double

death is a double


death is a double-
acting tumbler
lock, and i am brass
still feeling
for the shape
of an eighteenth
century key.

life is forging me
into a perfect fit


Yin-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

The Standard Orchids

Painting by Pamela Casper


the standard orchids


the standard orchids
they offered in
condolence is in full
bloom.
each bud appears
to be on
board, making its
seemingly windswept
way to light
with such
sad perfection,
a joyless
footnote
to the story
of your passing

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

The Cereal Was

the cereal was


the cereal was
too naked for you
this morning outside
of its conspiratorial
box. show some
consideration, that is
how they were
always meant
to be: cold
and singled
out, in the caress
of your heartless
spoon

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

Don't Call

don't call


don’t call
after this, he said.
and on the times she still
does, like a ceaseless
chemical reaction
that only seeds
itself after midnight,
she reconstructs all
the words he has
ever used on her
and, from a distance,
the ones she wants to
hear are as transparent
as day –
it’s only a fib
if you can
bear the truth


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

On Day Fifteen, I Know

on day fifteen, i know


on day fifteen, i know
it has to get
better because
on day fourteen, i could
not remember if i had
cried.

on day fifteen, i know
it has to get
better because
on day twelve, i noticed
how easy
it was becoming
to dress myself
in the morning.

on day fifteen, i know
it has to get
better because
on day ten, i could pick
up the phone and dial
out and across
the country
and breathe
before i whispered,
hello,
it’s me
before breaking.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

In the Shower This Morning, I

in the shower this morning, i


in the shower this morning, i
concocted a mastermind
plan to fasten the ends of these tear
ducts to a Rube Goldberg machine.
at this point, it is certain to be
the most direct way to intervene
the next time they have
the vaguest inclination to shed.
if it takes at least forty-nine
independent steps to get there,
there might be just enough time for
prevention — between the triggered
sorrow weighing down my
heart, to the released
sand tilting the cold, metallic
scale, i may have set
enough of an elaborate trap
to lock myself out of myself


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

No Matter Which Way

Painting of "landscape" by Michelle Calkins


no matter which way


no matter which way
i look at it, there is
a crease consistent
with the weight of your
memory

in each new memory –

i am stepping off
the train, and the
platform curls,
losing its grip
on me.

i am opening my
mouth to speak,
and the sentence
dog-ears, and i
am undone.

i am looking
at the sky, and the sky
is rolling up its
corners, already finished
with me

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

Death

Painting by Rick Berry


death


death
has not evolved
in any way that may
be useful to the
living. one does not
remember the feeling
of death
like one remembers
hot glass looks
like cold glass
or do not wear
open-toed shoes and
report all
chemical spills
immediately. for some
reason, one does not
forget the weight
of overlooking these
warnings the way
one forgets
how death
burns, cold and hot,
irrespective of distance,
seeking no
acknowledgement
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

I Am Not

i am not


i am not
depressed, i am
only
lost, four limbs
swinging
ever so
slowly, held
up
by the
day’s harness


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Choices"

He Comes In As

he comes in as


he comes in as
politely as
unexpected

he always takes
off his shoes
before entering

he arms himself with
the oldest knock
in the world

he understands
the word no
with comfortless
clarity, and

after all these years

he still dulls
the pain
with two shots
of salvation before
falling asleep
with his shoes on

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

On Average, the Human

on average, the human


on average, the human
heart discards point
two megabytes of broken
data per second, leaving
a distinct taste of loss
in the air for sixteen
seconds just right after –
and should a lucky poet
be passing by, packing
a pair of powder-
free latex gloves and
the finest tweezers, he
or she may gingerly
pinch the fallen
fragments, take them
home to rinse and
hang-dry for a week,
before refashioning
them into something
useful to a beating
heart again


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

It Takes Two to Not

it takes two to not


it takes two to not
look at each other –
one to spin
the yarn, and
one to knit the
illusion, at the
very least, three-
ply, twisted.

it takes two to not
boil the water – one
to turn the burner
on, and one to turn it
right off, two to not
look at each other –
no tea, no stirring
for conversation.

it takes two to stop
breaking down –
one to spin
the yarn, and
one to knit the
illusion, two to not
boil the water, no tears
humming on the
burner, no whistle
screaming for release
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

On the Twenty-Eighth

Painting by Susan Morrison Sims


on the twenty-eighth


on the twenty-eighth
day, the moon will have
finally made her way around
this new
world-without-
you, and the sudden
realization will show
on her face,
and the earth will recognize
that suffering look
and all at once
feel
lighter in mass, in this new
world-without-
you

as a consequence,
each day
will be quickened
by one point two
six microseconds,
and they will put it
in their history books –
and there will be less time
to say i love you,
less occasion to hold your
hand, less room
to tie the tips
of our dreams together,
less, still less.

but it is only the twentieth
day – the moon doesn’t
know, so the earth
doesn’t know, and the
days, they drag their
feet because you’re not
here, and
we have been living
with it
for twenty days
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

These Days, I Hold

Painting by Hiroko Sakai


these day, i hold


these days, i hold
my breath like it is
really going to make
a difference this
time, like the fog
will lift just
enough so that
i can do math
again – compare
apples to oranges,
your passing to
someone else’s
loss. if i squint, i
can almost make
out something solid
on the other side
of the equation

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

I Am Just About

Painting by Dana Levin


i am just about


i am just about
ready to
compartmentalize
today. yes, it takes
some nerves,
but mostly
an armload of
two-by-fours and
a bag of three-
inch screws.
if i can accurately
determine the location
and dimensions to ensure
straight and true
walls, i may never
have to feel so much
desolation again

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on Y's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

It Looks Like Your Toes

Chang-e & Hou Yi


it looks like your toes


it looks like your toes
are planning to
rob a bank today, he
says, as i slide into
heels, hiding that
stockinged look
as if they were on
the other side
of the holdup


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

How Can We Bear It

Mandala of Vajrayogini by Andy Weber


how can we bear it


how can we bear it?
i don’t know how
we can bear it

death is not so
bad, we were really ever
wounded by life
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

These Memories Rub

Drawing by Tina Antoniades


these memories rub


these memories rub
against each other
like marbles in a burlap
sack. you can leave
a hand inside to finger
the cool and seamless
illusion, but there
is no real comfort
nor grief
until you can bear
to pull one
out, to study
that embedded
Latticino core,
to explore with
intention
without swerving
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

The Days Used to Press

the days used to press


the days used to press
against each other, like
fresh, uncut pages, no
need to check them
off. since Thursday,
however, i tie a rope
around my waist, secure
the other end to each long
stroke of midnight and
sink into the unknown,
hands and fingers
outstretched,
feeling for a
sign, crossing out,
then slicing into
each day when i come
back, emptied-
handed, failing
to retrieve you
from that
terrible darkness


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

It Is Almost Unbearable

Painting by Clayton Kashuba


it is almost unbearable


it is almost unbearable
to whisper
that there is no more
signals for dreaming
when half of the access
code is undeniably
corrupted. instead, we
are met with silence
like glass, reminding
us – you haven’t
earned that story
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

They Put You Through

they put you through


they put you through
the incinerator so
fast yesterday
those who were still
standing felt a gusty
sigh
between their fingers
as they reached
out to cleave to that
last goodbye

and you were
that final,
dead knot
at the end of a string
of beads, burnt,
hardened,
securing us
so that we may
never again
come so undone

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

After All That

"Neither fire nor wind, birth nor death can
erase our good deeds."


after all that


after all that
burning
and settling
it is duty
to pick the
bones out of
your cooling
ashes and into
your new, marble
skin, feet first.

how were you
able to remain
so still, tickled
by more than
a dozen pairs
of slippery
chopsticks –
and after all these
years, i guess
now you
know, my dear
i have never learned
to hold them
correctly


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

it is mostly self

it is mostly self


it is mostly self-
preservation that
makes the living fancy
that the dead wants
to have anything more
to do with this not-
letting-go part. i hold
your hand in the dark
before waking and
by dawn, my fingers
are stinging, like a
self-righteous
deficiency, a prickly
reminder that death
is not another chip
on the shoulder, there
is nothing second-
hand about it


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on Y's-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

thirty four monks were

thirty four monks were


thirty-four monks were
at your service
yesterday, such professional
chanting, such polished
sutras. memorial banners
flew in from far and wide,
red for your joy, white
for our sorrow, elegant
calligraphy for the man
who lived.

and when the fragrant
wreaths marched in
in lock step, over one
hundred mourners
sniffled in unison,
wiped their burning
eyes in a
synchronized
gesture
within this courtly dance


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning


Sunday morning
pounced
on and started
to disentangle
an hour out of the day
like scooping out the
center pull ball from
a spool of variegated
sunrise. the tip of
Spring winked and
streaked across the
cotton sky, building
ladders from the
day’s rain
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

Rose Drachler

Jerome Rosenberg did a posting with some of
Rose Drachler's poetry. He listed some
"biographical notes" from her, and they are
fascinating:

"I am truly a non-person. I have been mistaken
for the janitor’s wife, a nurse for dogs, an
aunt, a good witch, a poet, a distinguished
(dead) actress, a mother. I suffer from the
spiteful machinations of my grand piano. I am
compelled to continue a needlepoint rug the size
of a ballroom by the lust of the eye of the needle
for friction with wool. Strangers tell me the most
intimate story of their lives and drunken Ukrainians
propose marriage to me on the subway on Friday
afternoons. I am old and ugly. I was born old
but interested. Water loves me. I have been married
to it for more than half a century. I know the
language of fish and birds. Also squirrels and toads.
I am a convert to Orthodox Jewry, also I have tried
riding a broomstick. I had a vision of the double
Shekhina on Amsterdam Avenue and 110th Street. I
have taught cooking and sewing to beautiful
Cantonese girls and the affectionate daughters of
Mafiosi. I am married to an irascible but loving
artist. A nay-sayer. My parents drove each other
crazy. Me too. Which turned me to books and poetry
and I thank them for it."

Rose Drachler

Posted over on Poems & Poetics

We Have Heard What Drowning

deviant art by rainesz


we have heard what drowning


we have heard what drowning
was like, and this was more
like playing hide-and-seek
with our breaths –
when we finally count
to one hundred,
we hope to catch you
taking your routine
nap hidden beneath
the afternoon
sun, our breaths
held so gently
in your beautiful
and wet fists


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

Home

Home

There I was,
89 years old, living alone
in a crappy apartment
watching “Wheel of Fortune”
when the reaper dropped by
just as I was getting up
to take a piss, applying
his great golden clamp
to my silver-haired chest,
squeezing my lonely heart
until it burst.

I remember the room filling up
with light, and the surprising absence
of pain as I blinked, finding myself
walking along a white path of pebbles
in a dark forest that seemed familiar,
though I didn’t know its name.

I met a traveler on that path,
who was dressed in a leather-fringed
jacket and a New York Yankee’s
ball cap, who had the kindest eyes
I had ever encountered.

We sat in a meadow of lush clover
and I asked him,
“What the hell do you have to smile
so much about?”

“I am your guide through this forest.”

“Wait a damned minute, Slick. I’ve got
coffee brewing and a tom cat to feed and….”

“Not at all, Paul--you are here now, and it
is only part way to your destination.”

“This is a dream, right?”

“Come,” he said, rising to his feet,
“We must go, for you have no place
in the world.”


Glenn Buttkus March 2010

The Returnees

The Returnees

for Doug & Meredith


Somewhere in motion
Savant and Miss M are--
on huge train wheels,
or on their own pins,
or in a shuttle,
or in the mighty Prius,
moving, traveling, steaming hotly
toward Redwing Manor where
the boy and the cat
and the utility bills wait;
and their imaginations
are inflated with
a multitude of symbols
and diverse visualizations
they now carry with them,
all Smithsonian
and District of Columbia related;
perhaps with indigestion
from cafes and restaurants
and the train dining cars,
perhaps with new knowledge
because three dimensional artifacts
have changed their personal sense
of history,
perhaps with bags of souvenirs
that will gather dust some day
after the first flush
of nostalgia has ebbed,
perhaps with cameras
and iphones swelled
with hundreds of images
that will be edited
and perused for days
after their return;
for the Lake awaits them,
and the trees bending
near their porch
rub trunks in greeting
as the travelers rumble
across the back porch
and enter the kitchen,
heavy bags in each hand,
wearing funny hats,
and Groucho glasses.


Glenn Buttkus March 2010

Yesterday's Fragment

Painting by Rebecca Cooper


yesterday's fragment


yesterday’s fragment
of grief was only shorthand
for today’s suffering

when nothing hurts
everything hurts

there is no one
to whom i can
pin this bouquet
of wrung rivers
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

If You Take Everything

if you take everything


if you take everything
you know about moving
under this much
weight –
day after day
night after night –
cut it up and mix it well
with tears and
more, even more heaviness

and if you can
hold it together
just long enough
for the pain
to dry, still
so slowly

you might emerge
solid, intricate,
and surprisingly
lightweight, on an
unmarked, papier-mâché
morning, ready
to be painted,
even decorated


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on Y's-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

The Day Oxydizes

the day oxidizes


the day oxidizes
with the urgency
of someone waiting to turn,
wanting to forget

to touch, or not to
touch, the longing reflection
a chipped decision

here is my newly plated
armor of jade
here is your death,
the cruelest catalyst


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted on her site Y-s Bits on "Healthy Doses"

What Remains of Your Death

Painting by Evelyne Boren


what remains of your death


what remains of your death
is a song pressed between
pages, a swollen
chrysanthemum, slowly losing
her body language

what remains of your death
is a sun pulling away
from an opened
window, is a cup of
tea, cooling

what remains of your death
holds riots in the dark,
is a pair of pajamas,
folded,
unable to sleep


Yi-Ching Lin

Posted on her site Y's-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

The March of the Penguins

The March Of The Penguins

Raise your beer to the Emperor daddies
this summer, and toss that steak on the grill.

They’ll be simmering their unborn
between their toes and the fat
of their dwindling bellies,

taking turns on the outside of
a windchilled minus 100 huddle

– their wives 70 miles away, haggling
with the grocer over bacon and beans.

Jannie Funster

Posted over on her site Jannie Funster
where we discover she "will work for beer and donuts",
and that the terrific poem above is part of her
55 Flash Fiction Friday; exactly 55 words--a
challenge for any poet.

New Studio

Image by Alex Shapiro


New Studio

1.
Working next to the water means having a lot
of company throughout the day. Apart from the
occasional deer, fox, or neighbor’s goofy
Labrador, it’s an endless parade of avian beauty:
seafarers like herons, ducks, geese and gulls,
seed-farers like chickadees, nuthatches, finches
and flickers, and most strikingly, the see-
everything bald eagles who circle gracefully
above my head every day (possibly sizing me up
to see if I’m a candidate for lunch). It’s so
distracting, it’s amazing I can get any work
done at all. Ahhhhhh.

2.
Working next to the water means
having a lot of company throughout the day.
Apart from the occasional deer, fox,
or neighbor’s goofy Labrador,
it’s an endless parade of avian beauty:
seafarers like herons, ducks, geese and gulls,
seed-farers like chickadees, nuthatches,
finches and flickers,
and most strikingly,
the see-everything bald eagles
who circle gracefully above my head every day
(possibly sizing me up to see
if I’m a candidate for lunch).
It’s so distracting,
it’s amazing I can get any work done at all.
Ahhhhhh.

Alex Shapiro

Posted over on Notes From the Kelp

1. Prose by Alex Shapiro
2. Line Breaks by Glenn Buttkus

Below

Below

1.
Erupting beneath the surface is a stunning
world of liquid beauty and grace. Hidden from
our eyes and even our imagination, this private
sanctuary envelopes life and hope. Follow your
ears and your heart to the depths of a place
we sometimes forget to look.

2.
Erupting beneath the surface
is a stunning world
of liquid beauty and grace.
Hidden from our eyes
and even our imagination,
this private sanctuary
envelopes life and hope.
Follow your ears and your heart
to the depths of a place
we sometimes forget to look.


Alex Shapiro

Posted over on Note From the Kelp

1. Prose by Alex Shapiro
2. Line breaks by Glenn Buttkus

twenty eight.i

twenty-eight. i


twenty-eight. i
do not know what to
do with this number
but to wear it.

twenty-eight. days
connected to
nothing, but touching
everything.

twenty-eight. one
new month already
vandalized by the
artist tagged as Death


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on Y-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

I Cannot

Image by Yi-Ching Lin



i cannot


i cannot
see past yesterday
today is a trap –
a footnote
to longing, an
abbreviation for
yielding – today latches
on like fish hooks
with no room
for tears


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on her site Y-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

Carrying Weight

Carrying Weight


five days left
to be counted

a five-second
fear of unfilled
regard, a temptation
to consider the
space you still
occupy
here –
to make you last
for another ten years
.

Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on her site Y-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

The Day Stretches

Painting by Vicky Brago-Mitchell


the day stretches


the day stretches
and grows ever
longer, the hours
breathe like
exhaustive empires


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on Y's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

I Hold

Watercolor by Karen Winters


i hold


i hold

the sound of Dad’s voice on Thursday
morning, when it cracked, spilling the news

subsequent images like routinely-fingered photographs

i hold

distance like a shield, an empty room

each hard-shelled day to my ear, fleeting souvenirs

i hold

memory of your eyes, evidence
of an extraordinary thing, so alive

and oh, how they once held me

i hold

i keep holding
.

Yi-Ching Lin

Posted over on Y's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

Hir Tsa Jin Shin Haw

Image by Yi-Ching Lin


hir tsa jin shin haw


hir tsa jin shin haw
“drink tea to be wide awake”

today, my mouth
is your mouth, my tongue
your tongue, and i drink

tea as bitter as the first
pot you brewed each morning
as dark as your new death

come, drink,
be wide awake


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on Y's Bits on "Healthy Doses"

There Are Days

Image by Tom Uhlman


there are days


there are days
when the air
has been bruised
so badly, we cannot
recognize whether or not
we are awake

on these
days, our
bodies, such naturally
careless limbs, become
overwhelmingly
aware

and suddenly,
shoulders and knees,
ankles and wrists,
even knuckles, round off
into perfect erasers,
treading slowly
across the surface
of day, removing
a word or two,
a sentence, and loss
that never adds up

Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on Y-s Bits on "Healthy Doses"

And No One Came to Collect

Posted by Chuck Rose on Struggling to Paint


and no one came to collect


and no one came to collect
them on the day
of your departure –
these final
cigarette ends, and how
they once held
your flame


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on her site Y's Bits on HEALTHY DOSES

There Are Habits That Grow

Photograph by Yi-Ching Lin


there are habits that grow


there are habits that grow
even more
familiar as i learn
to hold them –
habits that leave
holes inside of holes,
empty days inside
of empty months, habits
designed to squeeze
you out, to absorb
the predictable
sadness, habits
to carry my
childhood away

Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on her site Y's Bits on HEALTHY DOSES

Blood Donor

Drawing by Jana Botkin


blood donor


blood donor
.
no matter how many
times i give away my
blood, it does not
drain the melancholy
numb the heart
dilute the distance between
us, blood of your blood,
bone of your bone –

they are pinching
the tube, extracting
the needle, icing
the collection bag –

you are already
so cold, long buried
in dreams, i place
a hand over my
right arm, apply
pressure to the
wound, our hearts are
orchestrating beats


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on Y-Bits on "Healthy Doses"

Mondays Through Fridays

mondays through fridays


mondays through fridays, unlock
the office, beeline to the
keyboard, CTRL+ALT+DELETE
my fingers extract the
password with no
recollection, my mind
is hanging up the coat,
putting the purse away


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on Applehouse Poetry Workshop

Some Tie Strings

some tie strings


some tie strings
to the earthshaking
events in their
lives to bookmark
change. i drop
anchor on the
smallest gestures –

roofed rain

three fingers
near the rim
of a brown
teacup

a gentle insistence –

to find
my way back

Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on Y's Bits on HEALTHY DOSES

Even From This Far

Even From This Far


even from this far
back, you could see
the entire world spiraling
on the tip of her cigarette -
a sequined burden


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on one of her site Y's Bits on HEALTHY DOSES

In the Hour Before Becoming

Painting by Walfrido Garcia


in the hour before becoming


in the hour before becoming
magical, you

disconnect all the alarms

tie a knot
into each straying breath

open your eyes

close your eyes

make a bold leap

and ring every telephone in every
dream four times

until one world rings
truer than the other


Yi-Ching Lin March 2010

Posted over on Y-Bits on "Healthy Doses"