Poem: Trigger

Trigger

Yellow scrawl on the east

window, badge of human desire:

to leave a sign, to color the

course of life, to place a

lip upon a lip and

open up the other.

We chase the high note because it’s

dangerous. Nights on Curtner, a

schoolyard glimmer that flips a

prehistoric switch: horror movie,

rollercoaster, sabertooth.

We might not otherwise

know that we’re alive.

Our bibles the calendar and the

checkbook, and why not?

There is nobility in groceries,

yardwork, snacks for the

soccer team, whether to end this

stanza on a period or an em dash –

Circle the lake with your eye on

Pollux you will end up wet.

Life is the single item: a blonde

picking butts off the patio,

bouquet of alstromeria,

a purple ring that

reminds Monique of her uncle.

Parmesan over popcorn.

Cirrus cloud in the shape of Ireland.

An F-sharp sung by Nat King Cole in 1947.

Reflection of a girl’s face next to

a bottle of vanilla syrup.

The one snaggle tooth that makes her cute.

The jogger runs in a blur of

light and smell.

The hiker spots the red cap of a

woodpecker, beating an adagio waltz;

recalls a song, a cafeteria, a

cast on one arm, a girl with

cinnamon hair that smells like peach.


From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV