Mitchell Waldman - Poems

Mitchell Waldman's fiction, poetry, and essays have appeared in numerous publications, including The Waterhouse Review, Crack the Spine,The Houston Literary Review, Fiction Collective, The Faircloth Review, Epiphany, Wilderness House Literary Magazine, The Battered Suitcase, and many other magazines and anthologies. Waldman is also the the author of the novel, A Face in the Moon, and the story collection, Petty Offenses and Crimes of the Heart (Wind Publications), and has served as Fiction Editor for Blue Lake Review. (For more info, see his website at http://mitchwaldman.homestead.com). 

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                                      Snow
 
Every day there were
more and more reports
that the snow was coming.
And he would wait
dull-eyed, tired
propped by his window
searching for the first
crystal flakes of winter.
Locked in his room
he was impatient in his waiting--
with walnut cane
he would hobble through the streets
on rickety legs,
bones cracking,
down to the diner
for his daily soup.
And then he'd walk back
as if his life were a clock
ticking down
the streets a still life
of man with cane
in a world no longer his.
  His eyes would meet no one's
  only sweep past the rushing
  flash of a coat or dress or boot.
Creeping back through the silence
back through the musty hallway
back to his room
feebly rubbing his hands by the stove
huddling in a blanket by the window
he would sit,
waiting for the snow.

                                    Cockroach
 
 
Cockroach
bedamned orphan
of kitchen counters
you scurry across
I slam to squash
without thought
fleeing on wires for legs
your leprous body
screams to the cracks and corners
I slam so hard
great reasoning bug that I am
your life your crime
I crush inconvenience
blast it
plow it
or stuff it to show!
I'd burn a million
six million of your kind
so you don't find the sugar
but pray bow to the God in you
and with each smack of the hand
my soul lurks beside you
falls deeper in the cracks.

                                    Hey Jack
 
Hey Jack
Jack Kerouac
you got lost
on that road of yours
Jack
(and we got lost with you)
in your travels with Neal
in your taking on the world
and life
and life
and life
needed someone to pull you back
show you the way
but you got lost
went to a place
from which
you will never return
those days gone forever
gone gone gone
your words your life your world.
Come back, Jack,
 
come
 
 back.

                                        Just Before the Light         
 
The whispering winds breathe your name
echoing the words that rush from my lips
as I cry tears of longing
in the snow and rain and thunder,
wanting to reach out to you
across the expanse
of our scant and scattered lives,
so far apart
yet so close:
in the still silence of the early morning
just before the light
I carry you inside me
everywhere I go
in a secret pocket
in the hallowed ground
of my heart and soul,
my One,
my tender love.



                                           Bar People
                                   
                       
 
We walk into
this dank dark place
trying to remember why we came
walk into
this swell of bodies
a carnival of faces
and exaggerated expressions
laughter coming from unseen corners
drinks spilling on the fabric
sorries and gleaming long toothed smiles
crossed eyes
(don’t know where they’re looking)
and greasy haired slit-eyed stares
(no question where he’s looking)
sunken-cheeked woman
arms covered with bracelets
talking in a non-stop blare
beer bellies rolling
high-heeled, boot steps aimed forward
but angling
dangling toward the edge
hanging on to the chipped bar’s edge
to breathe
and then the call:
“Gather round, gather round!”
so the circle forms
sweaty, hot and smelly,
a match and the candle is lit
lights go off
no one breathes as
the child-baked cake with the number “50”
and the toy Jim Beam bottle on top
shines
(“It’s her favorite,” the elfin one
with wide eyes said,
 his palms turned up at his sides)
as a baby is rocked in her mother’s arms
the candle light in her eyes
and everyone sings off key
off-kilter
and sharp-edged limbs flail
the bar people
dancing
and talking
rocking
and shouting
pointing
and laughing
slapping backs
holding on to each other’s elbows
to keep from falling
remembering a time past
the music too old
floor too sticky
smiles too wide
laughs too loud
to forget the days
to return to that place
they think they used to be.