|
4 Poems by Elizabeth Kate Switaj
Lady of the
Three Accompaniments
Now I
go
where karaoke goes
w/a thousand of me.
I always thought
Id cramp my back
next to my mothers,
curving my fingers
for factory pay
(and of course to make
shirts that I could never
buy
I can buy them
now.
Now I
go
where karaoke goes
w/a thousand of me.
But it wasnt
enough
and I traveled the streets that bring
salarymen to me now
and first I worked
to serve food.
Now I
go
where karaoke goes
w/a thousand of me.
And one night a
woman shining
underneath her swoosh claimed by
claimed victory
and
Levis jeans. She made in a
night
what I made in a
month.
Now I
go
where karaoke goes
w/a thousand of me.
Now my throat burns
with whatever the
hell
they say when we drink
and, yes, I believe
its always the same.
Now my feet move with against
their hands-- forget the songs,
the rhythm my feet strive to recall
and maybe will, if I find
how I liked
tradition again.
Now my voice rasps
when I
dont cramp it to
whispery American pop (I couldnt scream if I needed
it
to accompany
men
with no language but
their mothers:
They dont understand
and cant pronounce the lyrics.
Now I
go
where karaoke goes
w/a thousand of me.
And theres a
fourth
accompaniment
but thats more
than what youd say
is twenty four dollars a day.
Now I
go
where karaoke goes
w/a thousand of me.
I cant tell my
family
I cant give
up
My brother needs to pay
his school fees...
Now I
go
where karaoke goes
w/a thousand of me.
I dream of
geishas across the sea in sunrise;
I hear last centurys
weep that I
cant join them
in the teahouse they
didnt know
waited for their deaths.
Or maybe I
can.
I breathe to
read
my way out. I
pray youll forget
to pack your book,
but
Now I
go
where karaoke goes
w/a thousand of me.
![------](images/hline.gif)
Mid-Atlantic
Ridge
ghost around pink blinded fish
an infant cauled
w/ectoplasm and
cilia
and just a
ghost
glowing along lines of sting
in diaphany
and the orange
ruffled dress,
a paw to
crawl
apart from pink body,
sandwhite tail
Here be
monsters:
just their prescient
soundbite...
![------](images/hline.gif)
Every
Time...Important
Stout infantfish churn their two months across reefs
and finally fall
into a microscope
where
they-- at least the smaller males
become an extreme.
They lack pigment
out of eyes
and in life, transparent.
![------](images/hline.gif)
Friday
Night
burnable
garbage,
burnable
sky
and the drainage ditch as
rain
is automatically cleaned
![------](images/hline.gif)
© is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce
material without consent. |
|