First Jeffrey Express* Poem by Donna Ialongo

a false spring
made the bus's fumes quiver
in false delight.
a silent smiled good morning
and the companionship of the first face,
chocolate and white,
matched the choking of the money machine.

i did not dirty his hands.

the other i faced
had sunk his nose and his mind
in Dondi

i sat (on the soon to be lake side) .
those who could talk to those socially acceptable
sighed through divorce, extramarital money,
and what to wear to the sophomore dance.

the crazy woman did a dance
and escaped
holding her transfer like a conquerer

much to the liking of me, a lake,
bigger than the smallest of fishes
and deeper than all gods - but one -
comes as a wedge between us -
me and the driver
me and those who won't sigh
to the wailings of a newborn sun.
me and my home.

the lake is every poem.
she is the blot of life.
the mouthpiece of inherited spittle.
a woman who cant make up her mind what color she is.

she mothers a sun in morning
and spawns almost always a premature moon in darkness.

i live from her constant death.
and in final separation
i am no longer all poets
but one