PASTIMES

She enjoyed crocheting & gardening
He enjoyed painting & drawing
She enjoyed reading
She enjoyed riding her Harley-Davison
She was an avid bingo player
She enjoyed knitting, crocheting and reading
She enjoyed reading
She was a member of the former Jayceettes

WORK

A retired weaver:
He had worked as a lace weaver at various mills in Pawtuxet Valley for more than 40 years.
A retired textile worker:
She had been a braider-tender at the former Providence Braid Co. for 35 years.
A head wire inspector:
She had been head inspector of quality control at the former United Wire Co. for over 40 years.
A retired assembler:
She had been an assembler at the former General Electric base plant in Providence.
A retired hospital employee:
He had worked in the laundry and kitchen at Cushing Hospital for 20 years.
A retired nurse supervisor:
She cared for handicapped adults and children.
A retired textile worker:
She had worked at the King Phillip-Berkshire Mill for over 40 years.
A former store department manager:
She had been employed in the leather goods department for 30 years.
A retired major with 27 years of service:
She served on the Island of Saipan in the Mariannes Islands with an advance medical group during World War II.
A retired fabric cutter:
He had been a cutter at the former Pilgrim Cutter Company.

NUMBERS

I live in a 70s neighborhood
in an 80s city
in a 20th century superstate
named America

I earn 90s money
in a 21st century economy
& owe $240,000

I drive a 2004 Honda Civic
& live in a 114-year old house
with 2 daughters, one 17 one 7
& a 5-month old cat named Vince

I am 47 years of age
& have know nothing
about the numbers
from here on in

POETRY SHOPS

Last time I was in Ireland I couldn't but notice how pubs have been displaced by poetry shops. It has nothing to do with cigarettes. There's no smoking in pubs and there's no smoking in poetry shops. There is alcohol in pubs and no alcohol in poetry shops, maybe bad coffee. There is conversation in pubs, except for the deep thinkers at the bar, and no conversation in poetry shops where everyone is lost in their own haze. But poetry shops have a more international clientele. By and large an hour or two in a poetry shop will cost less than an hour or two in a pub. A few hours in a poetry shop has a really negligible cost, especially when you consider their city center locations. A few hours in a pub can get you into a whole lot of trouble, financial being the least of it. The poetry shops are the thing in Ireland these days. Everyone is hunched over their own terminal writing poetry for their own audience or themselves. It makes a change from flushing away novels in pubs but it's too early to tell the consequences. It's anyone's guess whether the poetry produced in the shops will be a whole lot better than the stuff produced in the pubs. Or even what language it will be in.

STRANGE LIFE FORM

That would creep
Along this rough road
Under dark
To your laneway
Up to your quiet house
& into your hand

GONE

If a thing is not there
It is just not there

It is not hiding around the corner from itself
It has not shrunk

It is not crouching inside its own invisibility
giggling or holding its breath

No matter how recently you touched it
Your fingertips cannot summon it again

You cannot rewind to the time
the thing was there

You cannot lift yourself up
& place yourself down
in that safe time

When a thing is not there
it may or may not be somewhere else

But from your kingdom
It is gone

Believe your eyes

POSTNATAL WARD

thinking of Patrick, Janet, & Sofia today

It sure was intimate.
I meet women I knew then
and we don't even say hello.
I knew when their bowels moved,
when their breasts leaked,
what and how much they liked to eat,
what sorts of husbands they had
and how often,
the stuff they were made of,
how much money they had in the bank,
but seldom their names.
I knew their babies—
they were gazed at, compared.
I swear that I thought
each one as amazing as mine.
I inspected the ranks—
the monkey-faced one incubated,
the twins, the red-headed guy with the scabs,
the feminine boys and my masculine girl,
my spanking-new fat-legged girl!
My next-door-bed-neighbor was deaf.
Her husband and children would visit:
stream in and spread out on her bed
a fiesta of rough diamond talk.
I knew the snobs,
the ones who cut off,
the women who'd been there before
and the ones who fell down adoringly before Christ
in thanks for their child,
the women lying in pain
the ones who were clipped
the big women who loved
who were wheeled in at night,
stunned and rekindled each time
they remembered their child.
There was no shortage of pain,
of loss, of silence, of death.
We were the elected,
the chosen few.
We were the crème de la crème.
My breasts sprouted milk.
My whole body swaggered—
casual about its great coup.
It was so bloody glamorous!
My baby slept like a nun
in no rush to let the world in.
I outstared the night,
watched Dublin turn yellow and navy and pink,
and surging through me were giant peals of joy, joy, joy—
and I couldn't wait to get out.

WHO TO RECOMMEND

Seems a good enough woman
Hard to know
Something off-putting recently
Don’t really know her
Fancy name
Highly respected
Sweet man but would he want to
Gone
Same name as Irish senator
No
Great name
Too identified
Don’t know well enough
No
So many custodians
Great name
Has done his bit
Don’t know her well enough
But does he have any interest?
My mentor
Maybe
Not now
Maybe
Yes
On sabbatical
Didn’t know there was a doctor
Maybe
Hell of a name
Didn’t know that
Same name as Scottish painter
Maybe but busy
Pity
God that was awful
No
Died
Don’t know though
Not renewed
Yes
Mean
So many adjuncts
Poor impression
Don’t really know
Sabbatical
Fired
Don’t know
Interesting name
Don’t like
A little sleazy?
Great name
Yes
Two first names for a name
Let go
That would be rich
Let go
Don’t really know
Don’t really know
Yes though who knows
But why?
Gender Balance?