Two Poems
by Jim Daniels
Time Warp
In 1989, she bit him on the thigh
till he bled, hell's rainbow blooming
into memory's overdrawn account,
her shrug of apology, her warm tongue.
Bound and hungover, he whispered
an old prayer in place of the usual pleasantries.
In 2005, she became provost
of a major university and ran for public office.
She sent him her campaign materials
and asked him to go down on her
next time they met.
In 1992, she spent a month in jail
drunk and disorderly, assault and battery,
speed and tequila, refusal and denial,
blood and guts, time and temperature.
In 1999, he sold his last used car
and went into the seminary.
In 1987, he got into crack
on the ground floor
and built a tower of smoke
and mirrors. She was faithful
in her fashion.
In 2007, he cast an absentee ballot
in the form of a shooting star.
Her mouth was open, and she
caught it. On her lips, funding
for bricks and mortar, promises
for a better future. On his thigh,
no trace—stigmata or scar.
When they finally met again
he whispered old pleasantries
in place of the usual prayers.
Why I am Not Bitter
Our last winter night together
breaking up at the gray kitchen table
she stopped
to cook me a grilled cheese sandwich
thick chunks of sharp cheddar
oozing onto the griddle
where her tears sizzled.
Jim Daniels' next book of poems, Having a Little Talk with Capital P Poetry, will be published by Carnegie Mellon University Press in 2010. From Milltown to Malltown, a collaborative book with photographer Charlee Brodsky and writer Jane McCafferty, will also be published in 2010 by Marick Press.