Stone Soup Croutons, 3-14-16, Grace

Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title either then or later. It's likely some of the poets I thank at the end won't even be able to figure out which lines were inspired by their work. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, the poem doesn't go up because it's good; it goes up because it's Tuesday morning.

Last night was a simple open mic, no feature. I hope to have consistent features starting next week, but I'm thankful for the open mic's words, which I hope can be gleamed from the words below.


Grace

We save the dates of when we'll meet again,
store them in our bodies like precious organs
that require immediate substitutes once removed.

Some take whiskey to fill the holes
where words we look forward to were never said,
bible pages too abstract to peg themselves in.

We work in hospitals, just to make sure
there will be  someone around when we start spinning
someone to dial code blue once we hit the ground,
choking on our chosen sustenance,
dressed as homeless as we feel like that morning.

It's all the sky can do to stay up and watch us fall.

What happens when there is little difference
between the hues of our wedding ware and funeral fare,
hearts as corsages in desperate disclosure, teeth grit in grace.

there's a crosstown station to take our spot
to wait for our pickup, for our a cappella theme
you've waited, counting each apocalyptic tic
to hear them welcome you back.

Short but sweet.

Special Thanks to Yvonne, Surat Lozowick, Martha Boss, Navah The Buddaphliii, Gawaine Ross, Jonathan J. Joseph, LUCCI, Gladys Teresa Hidalgo, Dexter Garcia, James Van Looy and DiDi Delgado.