ANNA MEISTER
put the fun back in funeral
for Six Feet Under
always the crow / always the strange blue light
to move through / tubes in the basement / preserving
love for a last look / from now on / Christmas is
a kind of haunting / the grocery’s piped in music is enough
to make you wanna smash / the whole produce section to linoleum
melons bursting / into hundreds of tiny moments / you’ll never get
back / between his lips / the cigarette moves like a storm branch
& the radio sings / about coming home / when the bus glides in
her thumb slices / open / on the other side of town / she can feel it all
shift / air strangely thinner now / quick pain / blood to lick away / later
the phone will ring / is this his wife? / tossed across the room
along with dinner / like a collapsed tower / built from blocks
your father is dead & my pot roast is ruined / somewhere
you’re running / through the graveyard / imagining a scream
& then screaming / on the corner / everyone meets
your eyes / they nod like they know / your name / glue spread
on fingers / left / to dry & peel away / second skin / always waiting
for the bee stings / bodies bent / like tulips over pine boxes
someone died today / will always be true / a handful of dirt
a new home in the ground / never moving back to Seattle
you can see him / over there / as if dressed for vacation / ready
for waves & the same / last day on loop / flowers blooming
from his shirt / he’s perched on stone / drink in hand / using his body
for music / the man turns crow / & back again / no more
boredom / he claps & caws / no more waiting to die
put the fun back in funeral
for Six Feet Under
always the crow / always the strange blue light
to move through / tubes in the basement / preserving
love for a last look / from now on / Christmas is
a kind of haunting / the grocery’s piped in music is enough
to make you wanna smash / the whole produce section to linoleum
melons bursting / into hundreds of tiny moments / you’ll never get
back / between his lips / the cigarette moves like a storm branch
& the radio sings / about coming home / when the bus glides in
her thumb slices / open / on the other side of town / she can feel it all
shift / air strangely thinner now / quick pain / blood to lick away / later
the phone will ring / is this his wife? / tossed across the room
along with dinner / like a collapsed tower / built from blocks
your father is dead & my pot roast is ruined / somewhere
you’re running / through the graveyard / imagining a scream
& then screaming / on the corner / everyone meets
your eyes / they nod like they know / your name / glue spread
on fingers / left / to dry & peel away / second skin / always waiting
for the bee stings / bodies bent / like tulips over pine boxes
someone died today / will always be true / a handful of dirt
a new home in the ground / never moving back to Seattle
you can see him / over there / as if dressed for vacation / ready
for waves & the same / last day on loop / flowers blooming
from his shirt / he’s perched on stone / drink in hand / using his body
for music / the man turns crow / & back again / no more
boredom / he claps & caws / no more waiting to die
23
They think me God in costume,
my sweat & sneaks some disguise
& who am I to argue?
They drink the bright beverages
I hawk, buy the cereal, wear shoes
branded with my reaching frame.
At games, their chests hold
my number, their signs spell
my name. Everywhere,
that angry stag, seeing red.
They want to be like me,
to make contact the way I do, hoop
net hugging ball. Swoosh.
This is how wind is supposed to sound.
They think me God in costume,
my sweat & sneaks some disguise
& who am I to argue?
They drink the bright beverages
I hawk, buy the cereal, wear shoes
branded with my reaching frame.
At games, their chests hold
my number, their signs spell
my name. Everywhere,
that angry stag, seeing red.
They want to be like me,
to make contact the way I do, hoop
net hugging ball. Swoosh.
This is how wind is supposed to sound.
Anna Meister is an MFA candidate in Poetry at NYU. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Bodega, Sugar House Review, The Boiler, Drunk in a Midnight Choir, & elsewhere. Anna lives in Brooklyn & spends a lot of time perfecting gluten-free bread recipes.
