Seven Scatterings

I. Indian Jew

I will marry a Jew.

An Indian Jew,

with a thick beard,

and dark eyes,

and no history

of women.

II. Heaven

Heaven is my heart

made large enough to love God

the way He deserves.

III. Sweater

There are hairs in this sweater

that look as if someone hugged a dog

a white dog over and over,

up and down.

IV. Leftist

Scintillating leftist flutter

in my belly, shake my leg

and wonder shyly, (angry), wryly

why I cannot bear

to bear another name.

V. Forced 1

Who will toss

and torrent dialed

clefts, the brassy cool dead

after-floor, lofty, whole, no crack.

VI. Forced 2

Pickled belly button magenta

glass, glad eyes, spat laughter,

languor laid in sun on another

stiff pillow.

VII. Padme Amidala In My Dreams

She rolled barrels up the belt 

and stacked them in a pile.

Barrel on barrel, 

barred board 

on barred board,

smiled sweetly, petite

brunette in white, tight flexible

clothes.

VIII.  Oatmeal

I ate oatmeal for a week,

three times a day,

to make sure 

I wasn't dreaming.

I wasn't. 

But I still can't say.

We can read sentences now.

Isn't it amazing?

Phonics felt impossible back then.