Book of Synonyms, p. 997

photoart: sharon auberle

Book of Synonyms, p. 997

by Jeanie Tomasko

valentine, n. 1. This morning when the cardinal

broke my sleep, I started thinking Corvette, 

cherries, Russian Revolution. 2. This morning

when the cardinal sang on, I thought of beets

and roses and relentless. 3. This morning

when the cardinal wouldn’t stop, I said out loud

I want to be reckless with desire. 4. I decided

not to spend the day cutting hearts out of paper

to spread here on your pillow. 5. Love,

instead I am going to fledge a thousand

cabernet-colored feathers to cover my own

small beating heart. 6. It’s the middle of winter,

who cares if we don’t last the night?

~ previously published in Sharp as Want

   (Little Eagle Press)   

Lists, Early July

photo: sharon auberle

Lists, Early July

by Jeanie Tomasko 

1. Four-something in the morning and the cardinal is at it again.

2. I want to walk, don’t want to wake you.

3. I want to hear the wood thrush sing.

4. From some sound sleep, you’re up, don’t want me to walk alone

because of my new medicine.

5. Six crows are, well, singing.

6. Peewee, chickadee, song sparrow.

7. Yarrow, wild roses, the early white of baptisia on the prairie.

8. Twenty-eight catbirds imitating the thrush.

9. Hardware aisle, yesterday, kitchen knobs by the thousands:

smooth, silver, tarnished, porcelain, rubbed, studded ...

10. In my pocket, the one I needed to match.

11. The wood thrush flies from Guatemala, every spring, exactly

to this dead oak to sing summer.

12. The sun is up now, mist rising from the creek.

13. What I mean is,

14. Can you sometimes know, exactly

~ first published in The Midwest Quarterly   

Compline, Summer

photo: ralph murre

Compline, Summer     

by Jeanie Tomasko

1. Last light and the clouds are pink with it.  2. And the way

for a few breaths it turns the pines yellow.  3. And the way

the day lily  4. ends, and if  5. it is prayer to ask what color,

how long, when.  6. Sometimes the wind and the grapevine

feel like a prayer or  7. a want in me.  8. Late afternoon,

on the phone the nurse said we tell all our cardiac patients

to take their pills in the morning.  9. In the morning I was a nurse;

suddenly  10. I’m a heart and I’m wanting  11. a prairie

or a huge, forever, Wyoming sky.  12. Any edge will do.  13.  An old

friend emails to say: my heart, too  14. and, I watched a movie

and couldn’t stop crying, so I didn’t.

~ first published in The Midwest Quarterly

Walking Near a Frozen Lake

photo: sharon auberle

Walking Near a Frozen Lake

by Jeanie Tomasko

There is no stillness anywhere

but in death and even then

how would I know

I didn’t even know until now

my heart was a muscle of water

under ice

~ photo and poem previously published

   in Sharp as Want (Little Eagle Press)

photoart: ralph murre

Given

by Jeanie Tomasko

                       

For Jon           

                       

Now is a worn street on the east

side of town, now is

its sidewalk, its cracks                              

its dogs and women walking. Now is

its talking yard to yard, its front

porches, yawn-faced cats.

Now is a day of luscious light,

             the Sunday night of it,

fifth day into summer,

the fried-chicken-potato-salad of it,

            the friends, the table’s easy

laughter. Now is how

a body returns from darkness, how

a heart, how a thought, 

now is how to say given.

And this, the simplest grace: a wood floor 

shining with given, the garden

gate, repaired.

Every blade of grass is green with it.

Now is a plate heaped high

with it, and now, 

now is the whole blue onrushing world.

~ first published in The Midwest Quarterly

You Teach Me the Night Sky

artwork: sharon auberle

You Teach Me the Night Sky

by Jeanie Tomasko

Don’t say Milky Way

say River of Heaven, stars

like stones, woodsmoke.

No, not stars, say myths

of fire, say Cygnus, say — oh

the sky is filled with

sadness – don’t say sad

say moon, say orange, say —

the moon is an orange

tonight, Love, tonight

Aquarius brings water

for us the sky is

an old god in blue

and a boy with an orange

in his coat pocket.  

~ previously published in Sharp as Want

   (Little Eagle Press)

Forgive me, O Lord

photoart: ralph murre

Forgive me, O Lord 

by Jeanie Tomasko

I have been confusing window with glass. I have been confusing cup with water. Yesterday I thought white meant washed. I have said angel when I meant angle. I have been calling paper morning, morning afternoon, empty golden. I have even mistaken church for cement. I am blind. I am not the morning you made. And still, the tree outside my window is telling me everything I need to know about pink. The fire on the prairie is burning. The wine is saying how to drink. Dear Lord, show me how to unpray prayer, how to unbeseech seech, how to unholy wholly. I need to know how to uncup the words for window. How to unglass all this water.

~ first published in Right Hand Pointing

The Shape of Longing

artwork: ralph murre

The Shape of Longing 

by Jeanie Tomasko

it wants to be a bird with two wrong wings

it wants to be

     uneven, it yearns

to be hollow

a little place to put your wadded prayers

the shape of longing stops you

every time is something you know that you know

is gnarled and winter

                             and white as January

the shape of this is white

                              is the voice that comes

from your small right rib

from the place that makes the wind and salt

                              if there is

a place only light has been,

                              there

it is, returning to you

                              undiminished, overdue

it is not mendable, this, your almost,

your leaden, your irregular

rowboat, small skiff, bent wing

this, your perfect translation of homesickness, of swimming

                               under

your lonely, your only, your umbra

your longest scar, your certain,

your silent, your first

       frost

singular and sternal, it is

                               the shape

of all you asked for, you and your simple

                               mad, breathless heart

~ previously published in Sharp as Want (Little Eagle Press)

CROSSWORD SONNET: CODES

Crossword Sonnet: Codes
by Jeanie Tomasko

1. (Across) Knot in the middle of the spine. 2. (Down) The
spine of the matter. 3. Matter at the corner of the eye.
4. I, you, word for us. 5. Word for tonight. 6. I can’t
________ anyone. 7. (Down) The Truth. 8. (Down) Word
for wild joy—(see 9 Across.) 9. Across from me at your
shiny steel counter, you, taking orders for fries, burgers;
on our breaks they won’t let us talk so we write notes
to each other (10) across: fast food order forms. 11. Words
for can’t wait. 12. (Across) to meet you later. 13. Under
the second bridge. 14. Run your hand up the middle
of my sternum; turn the key behind the heart.

~ previously published in The New Guard

LIKE THIS

photo: steve tomasko

Like This
by Jeanie Tomasko

It might have been like this: a rampant swath
of fire—or like a heron's rise, that blue
and slow desire. The way a thought will sift
through time. A flower's life: a language you
have learned and left behind. Or this: a kiss.
Whatever was lives on somewhere. Sometimes
her name will slip into my sleep—like this:
the shiver of a bird before it flies,
the faintest musk of plum leaves on the skin—
and bring with it the only day I touched
her hair. Like this: an angel’s wing. But in
what world was that? Too soon the heart adjusts
like some dark bird who cannot trust the light
whose wing-tucked song forever haunts the night.

~ first published in The Midwest Quarterly