Killian Scott
A wallet was found this morning
in front of the bus stop.
I didn’t notice it at first
until this man who wore
deep lines of both time
& working outdoors,
picked it up from the sidewalk,
& he was walking his
sweet-tempered Dobermann,
that dog never made a sound—
but the unknown man was an honest one.
After inspecting the wallet’s contents, he never pocketed the cash.
But he needed my help:
“Did the wallet belong to a man or a woman?”
He showed me its Gold American Express Card;
the name read: Killian Scott.
Not Lillian, or Jillian—Killian.
“This a strange wallet,” the man scratched his head.
I saw the coin purse, & exclaimed:
“It’s a girl!”
(Obviously he never saw many coin purses, being a guy)
“Hopefully I’ll find her,”
& then he was gone.
I got on the bus, wishing
they’ll both find each other soon.
© Carrie Magness Radna: Img. 9677
Searching for Suzanne
(based on Leonard Cohen’s Suzanne)
“Suzanne takes your hand to a boat by the river…”
Judy Collins’s version transported me thousands of miles
to whatever river M. Cohen was trying to describe,
and to the heavenly girl who gave him tea and oranges “all the way from China.”
Are there still junk boats from China?
Will they sail me away from my junked-up house?
Mom and Dad aren’t bad people; they just don’t clean-up,
& they don’t mind when I play songs on the Hi-Fi over & over again.
Suzanne was one of Mom’s favorites; we sang along with Judy Collins a lot.
Years later, when my chocolate alto tone took shape,
I heard the original version with Leonard. He was still young and finding his voice—
not yet using the throbbing bass tone of Everybody knows and I’m your man.
“Hallelujah, hallelujah”—
Besides, Suzanne would had never taken me down to the river,
where a certain Jesus or Jésus
may had walked on the water after a big sail across the ocean—
No, no sailing for me.
I was in the prairies during the ’70s,
and I was way too young to be shopping at the Salvation Army Store all by myself.
But Darling, I was forever changed,
regardless what time it was, or where I was going to end up:
New York City, West Side, by the Hudson—watching the ships as they sailed by,
wishing she’d showed up
to take my hand as we walked towards the river.
Water dream
An ancient fear of water
keeps me frozen on the shore.
But in dreams,
I continue to swim
in moss-green waves
as crystal stalagmites
glittered in the cave;
phantom dots glide in,
where the sunlight
tries to trickle in
from the opening.
My heart tries to slow down.
The ocean still calls to me:
“Jump in.”
My breath warms me up—
imaginary palm trees sway
& my toes sink in the sand
& I feel the wind
rustle the tall beach grasses
before I wake up.
What would a gigantic beetle say
in the bathroom at 2:30 am?
She froze
when she saw me
while she was
on the toilet
where we breed
before we drown
I thought I could
just sneak in
like last time
a few months ago
(my kin’s in another apartment,
waiting—)
Why am I here?
Boredom? Bravery? Gumption?
Anyway,
I got the Hell out—
hope she won’t scream—
or fart again
(that was gross)
& I’m not
a transformed human
like Kafka once described
I was found at the wrong time.
Why was the woman there?
(Oh yeah, she had to pee)
I don’t belong here.
Gotta go!
Delta (no. 115 of Women’s names sensual series)
It humors me when couples
stepping out from NY ferries
unto Vessy Street,
the men proudly displaying
their big-breasted women,
holding their hands tightly
as if they were balloons in disguise;
their curvaceous chests could inflate
and they could fly away,
leaving their men with memories
of nuzzling and water-boating
alone, with their dicks in their hands?
My breasts are size FF,
too heavy for my body frame.
I take a half-Tylenol each day
to starve away the pain.
My man thinks my breasts
are his possessions alone.
I ask about reductions,
he looks at me
like he was slapped
in the face.
I hate it that my name today
has become a sickness agent
that circumvents people
already saved by needed vaccinations,
still, my chest is my own.
One day, I want to jog
without pain, & to breathe
without fear of catching
anything airborne.
When will that day come?
May (a Pantoum)
Tulips are exploding with color—
It’s the first day outside
without the rain! The sun is shining bright.
Petals are falling from trees.
It’s the first day outside!
Everyone is walking their dogs to the park.
Petals are falling from trees.
Strong breezes tickle strands of hair.
Everyone is walking their dogs to the park.
Poets’ voices become raspy while reading aloud.
Strong breezes tickle strands of hair.
Children are laughing & playing across the street.
Poets’ voices become raspy while reading aloud.
Without the rain, the sun is shining bright.
Children are laughing & playing across the street.
Tulips are exploding with color.