Full Moon Shining

Full Moon Shining

Frozen stuckstiff only warmth moves


excerpts: Day 1

The Language of Father


                                                one tongue I cannot forget: fucking cursong on the freeway

                                                I-5 to the 60: we couldn’t find our way

                                                almost missed the end of the year’s wrapping paper


the last book I gave: a history to re-learn and re-figure past lives

For some reason I remember:


















How to translate ancestral trauma

my body heard every note, high pitch cry—turned to low muffled sob

stories fill my bone marrow

become soft tissue


stuck in the skin

sticky words left unsaid

memories too hard to swallow

hot, too much heat, no rain, no snow

no room for digestion

took for granted…

all the hands I could reach out and touch: 


Day 1

recovering some[body’s] memory: spoken through magpies and ravens


[a traumatized word]:”skitscatteredplayremember” I’d take the pain, swallow since I asked for: The pill, the red one, unraveled [a traumatized sentence]. [Here] you can have the letters—make words and commas, apostrophes to possess the mark the dot and semicolon come [here] you must see how you got [here]. memory plays tricks become hallucination and all I remember I’m beginning to forget flashes: felt sense, rubbing        too rough   ouch                 sorry                 be gentle, then stop.

[I’m sitting on her lap, crying.]


there were too many things, too many distractions: our father left, is your daddy dead?   oh         I’m sorry                     

            is your dad here?


dad, I used to call you home from the bar. I knew the number to the Twin Gables by heart. I wonder how it felt to answer. I’ve forgotten how it feels to ask. [I’m lying.]

is your daddy dead?      oh         I’m sorry                     


            is your dad here?


I watched a student brush off bello hair. he stood up




too rough         ouch                 sorry                 be gentle



what if Alzheimer’s helped Gram remember past lives? s(he) was much closer to the dead on her way: closer than before. I don’t know how it happened. all I remember was a word: silence to “I love you.” 


the mouth forgot to move: I love you don’t you ever forget

lungs don’t heavehoheaveho


I don’t know where she lies: where’s the ash? I want to breathe her in                  the dust.



[i’m sitting on her lap, crying.]

watching someone practice script outside the wall, the fence, scratching into busstop seats. listening to gun shots and mothers crying asking please open your door so we can bury the child.

listening to stories. affairs and so poor, so poor, pushed shoved forced to conceive to bear: rape.

how could they? monsters. did you forgive her?

does memory loss help forgive what’s unforgivable?











cry cry


baby cry cry cry