my father was a Jewish bohemian
my mother too model racehorse trainer +
salesman extraordinaire one grandsonnyboy
inherited father’s riz kid could sell a fish a bicycle
but back to the bohemians
how do i even begin to capture their beauty
their élan vital how did they end up in a suburban
backsplit with 4 kids 4 giant dogs 1 rabbit 2 filthy
turtles 8 horses + 1 goat who developed an infatuation
with a brother he remains quite goat centric
HOW?
my father’s tweed jackets his cowboy boots +reefer
his jazz + his blues mother’s silk gowns chignon cigs
oh + her blues too life is not a read thru messy 1950’s
marriage slowsuck of aging
once we left the backdoor open bears snarling hogs
+a lion rampaged for years yet there were worse things
they did not need an open door or invitation to enter
our house still stands
so too
the laughter
the love
the protection when were you ever so protected?
there is a house in Bathurst Manor they call the Rising Sun
*(I can’t possibly rip off Eric Burden or can I?) the sun rose+set
on that house a beacon to which I return again +again +again
I write this poem on the front porch where I once dropped a large
mastiff puppy named Auggie
I’d tripped down the stairs in red clogs a new bride at 19
inside Frances+Lee in the livingroom on turquoise sectional
making-out laughing sharing a cig Basie wafts Aprill in Paris
this is eternity
one
more
once
forever
__
*(..House of the Rising Sun has no known authours..go ahead google it!)
April 2026 ..no birth no death..the eternal return..
songanddancegirl 