Issue 1:
Air
Janet I. Buck
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Apple Grief
The bonsai of straddled death
was a crew of nurses
catering all three meals
by injection with
glucose and morphine.
Both sugar, admittedly,
for fading sunlight.
I climbed a tree,
shook out angry apples
with seeds of cancer
by the hundreds--
steamed bitter into applesauce.
Took the bus
from school to you.
Brought you wishful Tupperware
but nothing meaningful to say.
Fruitcake flesh brought
grunts and sighs like
over-due library books that
no one wants to see or touch--
let alone take credit for.
That rickety fan blew
humid scents of final days;
a musty draft one finds at church.
The dresser with bottles
of perfume pills.
Stained-glass sorrow for my uncle;
pacing fevered cobblestones.
Hopeless wanted mercy booze
to help distribute helpless weight.
My applesauce, a joke (I know)
like feeding baby food to wolves.
~Janet I. Buck
Janet teaches writing and literature at the college level. Her poetry and essays have appeared in journals, anthologies, and e-zines world-wide. Email.
© 1999 by Janet I. Buck. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 23, 2002.