Distant relatives

Who are you,

stranger who bears my surname,

and packs Red Sox caps,

maple syrup, and Crest WhiteStrips?

 

Blood says we’re relatives,

but we’ve only met for 20 minutes

at the Johannesburg airport

in a fast food restaurant.

 

We captured your image,

nothing more

on our digital camera.

It’s not enough.

 

Entering the gods’ kingdom

I chose the neon pink of love

when I entered the gods’ kingdom.

Not for me the strident yellow of wealth

nor the new-grass green of wisdom.

 

I’ve tried wealth, and I’ve tried wisdom.

They’re like biting down in lip-licking anticipation

on what turns out to be a

credit card or parchment diploma.

 

A young wife’s lament

My peas are cold, my fried fish isn’t crispy.

Those were high crimes in your world,

where I struggled with milk-spitting,

wallpaper-tearing toddlers in a

strange country where I knew no one.

True, you worked hard as a doctor in solo practice,

but why did my tasks count for nothing?

 

I got fed up one time, hurling a dinner plate at you.

It hit the wall and broke into pieces.

So ended a dear piece of china,

a wedding gift from my parents,

shattered like my dream of a happy family.

 

Mind

My mind skitters across the floor,

pulling my forearm across the grater.

Disconnected from life.