News Morning News
posted by July 10 at 8:00 AMon
Talks Fail: At least 40 dead after Pakistan army storms Islamabad mosque held by militants.
AG Lies: In testimony before Congress, Gonzales pretended he didn’t know about Patriot Act civil liberties violations.
Hypocrisy Reigns: U.S. Senator David Vitter (R-LA), a moral values Southern Republican of course, on the DC Madam’s phone list, of course.
White House Freaks: Bush aides scramble to cope with mounting GOP opposition to War.
Ambassador Frets: U.S. Ambassador to Iraq warns against withdrawal.
Israel Flirts: Olmert seeks direct peace talks with Syria.
Gaza Suffers: Sanctions against Hamas cripple Gazans.
Kerlikowske Skates: Report says Chief didn’t inappropriately interfere with investigation.
Government Dictates: King County Board of Health looks to ban trans-fats.
There’s something called the Washington Poets Association, and they post a different poem by a local poet every day.
You wanted a skylight over the bed.
I, raised behind black-out curtains, said
“what about the sun?” Unlike the serpent,
you hissed, we have eyelids.
I come to bed too late to catch you before sleep,
the half-digested Thanksgiving dinner you prepared
still warm and heavy in my intestines,
and catch instead a phantom caressing your skin:
it is the moon, celestial masseur,
kneading a distillation of sunlight and languor
across your milky face.
In the blue white light you look dead
yet strangely animated, suffused by alien grace.
Confused, I stumble back from the bed,
frightened by the urge to kiss lunar lips,
strange fruit of a waxen wife
whose eyelids glow like tiny moons
orbiting an unknown planet.
I see now why you need this portal on space:
like any prisoner with a teaspoon
will scrape through cinderblock,
so too would you claw your way
through sheetrock to the icy moon
and call it resurrection.
I would not hold you,
no more than I could hold this thin,
ethereal light, other than to name
it beautiful, to say I was glad
you opened my eyes
to the terrible pull of the sky
just above our bedroom,
to say goodbye,
and that I will watch for you
in every blue Thanksgiving moon.
Michael Schein, of Seattle, is recognized as a 20th Avenue NW Treasure by a guy who hangs out in Salmon Bay Park. Michael has written 1 and 9/10th novels. His writing appears in Pontoon, Chrysanthemum, Slow Trains, American Drivel Review, The Ledge, Elysian Fields, and The Art of Bicycling (Breakaway Books).