Why I Don’t Want to Leave My House Any More
Category: Writing and Poetry

I didn't want to write about her

Black woman in white leggings

crossing Houston Street

yelling into her cell phone

 "No Mami  Mr. Bernstein was fifth grade

Miss  Cohen was my fourth grade teacher"

I tore up my notations

which also mentioned the

scowling girl with pink hair and

the guy sleeping on the step

(on top of his shopping cart

he had a Chinese cookbook

three chopsticks and a wok)

It was a week ago

I can't think of anything else

the Black woman in white leggings

Is eating sesame chicken cooked

by the sleeping homeless man

The scowling pink-haired girl,

Mr. Bernstein, and Miss Cohen

are engaged in a threesome

They  have stopped traffic  on Broadway

This will go on until I surrender

Write it, forget it, tomorrow

someone will chase his dog

Into the supermarket

yelling "Ragu! Ragu!"

Everyone in the store

will yell "Ragu Ragu!"

My brain is as scratched as

my Jimi Hendrix records

it will not play new songs

till I write about Ragu! Ragu!

This is why I never want to leave my house

Again

Ever

©  puma perl, 7/05/08

12:28 AM - 12 Comments - 24 Kudos - Add Comment

Beautiful
Category: Writing and Poetry

you ripped me open

I couldn't get out of bed

I didn't even want to look at you

your skin was so sensitive

once I left the carriage out for five minutes

you turned red as a beet

I was hysterical

you only weighed six pounds

your brother weighed eight

you looked like a little monkey

she was ten years old

she understood

she'd been a bad baby

ten years later

after two days of labor

she was astounded

he was the most beautiful baby

ever born, ever created

how could he have sprung 

from her damaged mortal flesh?

his real parents must be angels...

she feared the other mothers, they

might steal him, the best baby

the most perfect baby in the world

it wasn't until the next year

that she looked at his hospital picture

and saw his pointy head

he looked like a fish

it didn't matter by then

he was the most gorgeous

one year old that ever lived

©  puma perl, 07/02/08....

5:26 PM - 35 Comments - 36 Kudos - Add Comment

Girls (Inspired by Vera and P.S. 38)

The girls had a secret

we were nine

or we were ten

Summer camp

in the high school

We swam in the pool

I don't know

what else we did

all day

It didn't  cost much

We were waiting

at the stairs

The girls whispered

laughed

We'll tell you

on the fifth floor

they said

We had just eaten lunch

in the basement

We were going swimming

on the fifth floor

Suddenly I knew

I'd left my little bag

in the cafeteria

"My purse!" I shouted

like an old lady

on the bus

Neither fat nor skinny

nine nor ten

I ran back and got it

I probably tripped or

waddled as they laughed

They were disappointed

It would have been funny

if I'd lost everything

Sat on the side of the pool

watched everyone swim

held back tears

One of the girls was my friend

Years later

We went to see tina turner

four women, my friends

Afterward I looked for my wallet

It was gone

Everything gone

My throat was tight

"Tell her, will you"

said the youngest

My best friend of the group

handed me the wallet

She was laughing

The next day she said

she didn't get up that morning

planning to upset me

It just came naturally

Like the girls

by the stairs

when I was neither

nine nor ten

fat nor skinny

when I just was

waiting

to swim

©  puma perl, 6/30/08

12:26 PM - 23 Comments - 32 Kudos - Add Comment

The Best Friends
Category: Writing and Poetry

The girl downstairs and I had a game

We'd place toys, shoes, pillows, boxes

build a bridge of found objects

across her living room

take turns walking across it

We played this game for hours

Her mother would come home from work

soak her feet in a big green tub

we called it stink water

I was afraid of her brother

He usually stayed in his room

Whenever he came out

smelling of glue and peanuts

I'd run upstairs to my house

We loved Honeymooners reruns

Her father bought her a present

a Jackie Gleason record

She was so excited she hugged it

I asked to give it a little hug

and I broke it

The next day he brought us each one

He told me "now you can break your own"

I went home and smashed it

My parents moved to another block

All the girls already had friends

I never saw her again

Twenty years later,

strung out on heroin,

I ran into her mother

I asked about my friend

She said she was doing fine

©  puma perl, 6/26/08

7:25 PM - 32 Comments - 44 Kudos - Add Comment

in this house
Category: Writing and Poetry

In this house

of joyless children

No music plays

Towels are thin

Yellowed

Don't reach around

Nothing is funny

except when the

tv says it is

the house is clean

it does not shine

there are no plants

no pets

no pianos

no parties

no potato chips

no pictures

no paintings

the walls are gray

the floors are slanted

the ceilings are low

the lights glare

the sink is rusty

the faucet drips

the windows are closed

the screens are torn

the radio plays talk shows

the mother yells

the father sleeps

he closes the door

the room smells of

gas and cigarettes

the mother yells

he gets up

the mother sleeps

he goes to work

she cleans the house

she goes to work

they work together

she yells

he sneaks back home

he sleeps

In this house

It's the children's job

to bring in the joy

they have failed

the children

have failed

the screaming mother

the sleeping father

why aren't they

someone else's children

why are they here

who are they

they are invisible

they are shadow children

they are not real

the mother shook them

into wakefulness

the father dreamt them

©  puma perl, 6/24/08

8:22 PM - 21 Comments - 36 Kudos - Add Comment

lingering
Category: Writing and Poetry

I wasn't always like this

he said

there were tears

running into the

grime of his cheeks

his face was caving in

his glasses were cracked

I was the type of guy

if I saw a caterpillar in the road

I'd pick it up

real carefully

put it down somewhere safe

I wouldn't hurt anything

And now look at me

I go to the program

I go home

I watch tv

That's my life

I'm not living

I'm lingering

That's' what I'm doing

Lingering

©  puma perl, 6/22/08

7:20 AM - 28 Comments - 44 Kudos - Add Comment

once a wild child
Category: Writing and Poetry

a wild-haired child

chases the air

to her, dust is gold

pens are people

sticks are alive

her mother says no

dust is dirty

pens are for writing

throw the stick away

I loved that stick

cries the wild haired child

watching it die

in a two lane street

the child has a tiny bald spot

on the top of her head

she can't breathe sometimes

she rides in ambulances

the kids laugh at her wild hair

she pulls at it

it won't stay still

there is no gold in the air

sticks lay in the gutter

pens are for writing

the only truth told her

she picks up a pen

she begins to write

©  2008, puma perl, 6/20/08

8:11 AM - 44 Comments - 56 Kudos - Add Comment

keep digging
Category: Writing and Poetry

dig we must

to serve you

better and better

con ed declared

between black-outs

dog  executions

15^th floor heart attacks

dig we must

dig we must

to throw words down

somewhere, who cares

there are millions

of poets

billions of words

"spoken word artists"

me, i just write shit down

twitch all over the stage

go home and eat

i look around

i write it down

hoping my head

will empty itself

of enough garbage

so I can sleep

it's all a survival mechanism

really

dig we must

i found

bloody bandaids

rusty bobby pins

used tissue paper

dried up mascara

green apple cores

shit-like gumballs

corn and raisins

empty spaces

where I live

©  puma perl, 6/19/08

8:54 AM - 22 Comments - 30 Kudos - Add Comment

dig deeper
Category: Writing and Poetry

someone wrote that to me

"i'd like to see you dig deeper"

what will I find – sand

rocks, mud, blood, sweat

meanwhile

Chinese men in shirtsleeves

smoke cigarettes

scream into cell phones/

pregnant girls wear belly shirts

funky glasses and braces/

a Jamaican man

unloads trucks

"mama you're fine

take me with you please"

he calls/ but mama

comes out sounding

Like a baby doll

ma ma ma ma

take me home pleaaaaase

there 's no time to dig

i  know what i'd find

a  heart fill of holes

stuffed with sounds

like newspapers

in broken down shoes

©  puma perl, 2008

2:51 PM - 41 Comments - 42 Kudos - Add Comment

who do i think i am
Category: Writing and Poetry

teachers, parents asked

who do you think you are

if i wanted to stand up

before it was time

or walk around and everyone

was sitting down and my

legs said stand up stand up

who do you think you are

they'd say you can't stand up

you can't walk around

now sit down at your desk

like everyone else fold your hands

you're no different from anyone

who do you think you are

who do i think i am

in a black shirt from

the iron horse saloon

on a sunny day in yankee

stadium my hair's too long

who do i think i am

writing something thinking

someone might read it

reading something thinking

someone might listen

asking the moon to come closer

commanding the ocean to answer

cursing the confused sun

never finished, pages wither

half done, starting  a day over

at night or in the afternoon

standing up, standing up

walking around

who do i think i am

©  puma perl, 5/21/08

6:50 AM - 33 Comments - 46 Kudos - Add Comment

disordered
Category: Writing and Poetry

social workers

study flash cards

learn each diagnosis

unpronounceable words

label

human beings

if they pull their hair

hate elevators

need sunshine

every day

it's gray

even the sun

feels guilty

i am not

seasonally disordered

i am simply

quietly

fucked up

©  puma perl, 5/20/08

3:48 PM - 28 Comments - 29 Kudos - Add Comment

you don’t know what you’re doing perhaps you never did
Category: Writing and Poetry

i don't know what i'm doing

perhaps i never did

i don't know what i'm doing

perhaps i never did

it's out of control

 it's a mantra

i look in the mirror

i talk to myself

it might be me i'm talking to

or maybe not

you don't know what you're doing

perhaps you never did

i tie wire around a license plate

i move the car from one side to the other

i pop the trunk

i turn the radio on, off, on

you don't know what you're doing

perhaps you never did

one of the elevators is broken

i wait a long time for the other one

 i press one instead of thirteen

wonder why we're not moving

i don't know what i'm doing

perhaps i never did

i don't know what i'm doing

perhaps i never did

the welfare heiress
Category: Writing and Poetry

i used to be the welfare heiress

said i'd retire after 20 years

get a gold watch

i bring provisions

to every appointment

as if i were still

going to the welfare

dmv, jury duty, doctor

i pack bags of

newspapers, water

cough drops, gum

books, pens, paper

make-up, quarters

cookies, picture id

an extra shirt

i approach each appointment

with the same dread

the welfare used to bring

they will ask me questions

they won't believe me

they'll take my car

they'll take my face

they'll CLOSE MY CASE

they're always nice to me

i get what i want

nobody confronts me

they say good morning

have a nice day

this world of citizens

alternate universes

the welfare heiress

walks home, exhausted

unpacks her bags

till the next time

© puma perl, 5/14/08

7:40 PM - 25 Comments - 38 Kudos - Add Comment

why don’t you know?
Category: Writing and Poetry

i don't know, i'd say

why don't you know?

my mother would yell

she got really angry if

i said i don't know

what she heard was

i don't know

why your sisters

have houses and

cars and living room

sets that match and

you have to open

the refrigerator

with a screw driver

i don't know

why you married

a man you don't like

and bought a store

so you're together

all the time and

sleep in shifts

and fight about pillows

i don't know

i don't know  

why daddy sits

in a chair and smokes

all weekend

i don't know why

my hair's too curly

and i'm too tall

my butt sticks out

i smell like sex

i'm only twelve

 i don't know why

 men like me more

than boys do

i can't tell you this

so I say

i don't know

why don't you know

you yell really loud

why don't you know?

The Ava Gardner Museum
Category: Writing and Poetry

Exit 95, Smithfield, North Carolina

Ava Gardner Museum

I wanted to stop,

suddenly seduced by Ava

She was born in Johnston County

youngest of seven children

stunning and green-eyed

that's how she's described

I could have gone to the gift shop

Bought an Ava Gardner fan

for a dollar or a museum pin

or paper dolls or posters

of Ava, long eyes under thick brows

Earrings dangling to bare shoulders

Headdresses, tiaras, strapless gowns

Halter tops, wavy hair, velvet gloves

Stunning, green-eyed Ava

I turned longingly

as we drove past the exit

powerless as a child

strapped into a car seat

adolescent fury tore through me

fuck you I whispered

I hate you, I love only Ava