she frequented the truckstop often

 at 47 she took her last long breth

when 8teen bullets in ther wrath

left her hands still nd cold

that winters day 

found by a hiway worker

near the intrstate offramp 

white deer pensylvnia

jeans and purple shirt 

black leather jackt no socks 

no shoes 

once been a fashion model

in new york

finalist for miss manhattan  

and americas miss lady liberty

playd the violin 

youngest of five

never did marry

but

estranged from hr family for years

had mis demeanor offenses in arizona vrginia  

met mr rollins at a truckstop in conecticut in decembr

he thot her name was leslie

went trucking cross country 

police found a note in her pocket 

with rollins name

who done her wrong

in her pink purse

left unnoticd

the stars she shopliftd

from the night sky

the murmur of crows 

nd her faded refrain

once i was a daughter

called rebecca

peshtigo fire 1871

father pernin

brot me to wisconsn

from france

just a presse-papiers

becaus his god 

was much bigger

set me on his desk 

in peshtigo

tiny wisconsn town 

trees an trees n trees 

an men to cut them down

mill them nd burn th branchs

octobr 1871

on th very same day 

miz oleary her cow an th lantrn

burnd down chicago

peshtigo burned

more peopl died than

in th windy city

but

who ever herd of peshtigo

thats the way it wrks

i suppos

th air was dry for weeks

now a northwst wind rose strong

fr pernin went huntng

nite fell

he was lost in the woods

then a snake of fire on the ground

encircld him

frends helpd him out

back to peshtigo

at dinnr his guest askd

what to do if fire hit peshtigo

'seek th rivr at once' fr. said

he noticd the eery silence

so he buried 

surplice stole nd breviary in a trench

but pulld th tabernacl in a wagon

then

serpent flames wound up th trees

hissng wth fiery tongues

crimson air was ful of

burning coal an cindrs 

hot blindng smok

sand dust ashes

the factory whistl calld th alarm

soon came th terribl thundr

and th whirlwind reaped 

ravenous

fr pernin rode to th house of drunk men

to warn them

but they closd the doors

minuts later the hous was gone

fire jumpd house to hous

panickd horses nayed

chimneys fell

everyon ran to the 

river menominee

the fury furnace wind 

knockd fr to the ground

where a woman and child lay dead

he raced to th menominne

its banks lined with people

tongues out

still as statues

eyes to heavn

thinking it was 

the end of days

fr. pulld a man into the water

othrs followed

up to ther neks

watched trees houses sky on fire

factory swept away

they threw water on each othr

odd baptisms

a woman near him

in breathless terror

held one childs hand nd

a baby pressd to her chest

but bundld linen unwrappd 

found it gone -gone!

she waild as mothers do

desolate 

eyes wild staring 

fixed at th shore

then she drownd

five hours in frigid water

threatnd its own demise

but his shirt caught fire 

just moments out of the water

then

the fire slowed

breath came easier

dawn broke

charrd ruins still hot

burnt corpses

church gone

1500 dead

fruitless search for 

childrn parents bothrs sistrs frends

no words

still

a small miracle

the taberncl was untouchd

afloat on a log

amidst th charrd carts trunks boxes

chicago

peshtigo

only one is rememberd

look on the world ye mighty 

and despair

the little sunbonnet girl

linda parker
born in kentucky 1912
but grew up in hamond
indiana

she got expelled from
hammond high
an incorrigibl youth
for being a singer

on radio station wwae
in little saloons an nightclubs
downtown on state street
weekends were jammed

she was discovrd
by wls radio
and toured th usa
with th nationl barn dance
they had her wear
a sunbonnet on stage
strings hanging down
an a little gingham dress

in pictures she held
a banjo
but couldnt realy play
an she wasnt a real hillbilly
but sang soft and sweet
lush melodic old timey
like home

in august 1935
in elkhart indiana
her belly hurt so bad
but she sang and sang
two days later went
to the hospital and died
burst appendix

they said her last song
on the radio was
bury me beneath th willow
maybe jus to sell records

the rest of th troupe
went their separate ways

her real name was genevieve

no one listens

in ancient times
i was a god

a mistake, really
some thought i was
Fenrir the wolf
no just a dog
whose round teeth can bite
not man or Odin

the women brought me henbane
to seduce men
bringing visions and eros
and make bellies round

one had to be careful
during visions
i warned them
not to wake the trolls

but some would take sticks
just to see the trolls snarl
for sport
once awake the troll took days to
sleep again

nobody ever listns

farming with red cross dynamite indiana 1910

james kemper
sat on his frnt porch
readng the du pont brochure
full of wonder

it promisd
'dynamite excavates th hole
loosens the ground for yards around
kills all grubs
formng a spongy resrvoir for moisture
trees plantd in dynamited holes
live and thrive
and
a whole row of tree holes
can be excavatd in one instant
wth dynamite'

he talkd about this
and his many hopes
with miss melrose
who sat upon th porch swing
her bright spirit
a complemnt to his
bringing life to
dreary and barren days

on hearing his plan
a spool of thread fell
from her lap
their hands
accidently met
'please don't do this'
she sed softly
then resumd sewing

that afternoon
in th distance
twenty 3 trees
and james
fell to the detonation
in one instant
between her stitches

her face now aflame
miss melrose
stood up
and saw an empty space
wher once was james
she sat
and sewed
not knowing what to do
next

the hidden history of the korean war

a little boy found me
left in an alley and took me hom
th sentry to his yard
king of all tiny things

daddy he called to the man
daddy
and grabd his huge hand
that had held a dying man

but the boy dint know
and every so oftn those hands
would fly at him so
angry

the boy grew tall and
left me there ...not a king at all
went away
promisd never to return

ten plus ten years it took
to forgive
to lern the world
its terible ways
how hands can punch cradle hammer strum

he came back
laid down his wepons
signed the armistice
the old man's hands now his

long long ago
when i was a god

the atacameño people
from so. america
brought me 
the spider flowr
with th ceibo 
and cantuta 

i likd their maize 
they hoped i wuld 
grant a rich harvest

but my powers are so small
just tricks, really

very few 
of their peopl remain 
no one still speaks 
the kunza language 
not since 1930 or so

but the flowr survives
and maize
and their names for villages
like calama which means 
town in the midle of the water

they do not
remembr me