you know, everybody needs a good bottle of wine and some depressing songs
every once in a while
- Tori Amos, in concert, November 11, 1996, Boulder, Colorado
fallen trees and a little ice / and half flooded streets / point my way toward the Ohio / Indiana border / an hour and a half drive / with the sun / still on the other side of / the globe / and I can’t deal with / any more / NPR / I know there will be protests / signs / big block letters / in a dozen colors / but here there are just / stars / and clouds / a few constellations I don’t recognize / here / all I see are / road kill deer / pistols / rifles / here / in my head / last night’s storm still / blazes / a friend from China messages me / to say god / is too fucking / cruel / and I know I should respond / but instead I / listen / to “Talula” / again / through the applause / a man yells / I love you, Myra! / I shiver at the power / of naming / how many names / piano girl / Myra / Tori / Cornflake Girl / good names for constellations / there are seventeen / new names to learn but / I feel / like I’m on fire / looking / for simpler stars / for better constellations / for Daniel / the running boy / for Marianne / the beauty queen / Neil says / there’s a library filled / with all the books we’ve ever / dreamed / can there be one / where there are no storms / marching in the night / no landslides / of running children / I make it to the last / diner at the edge of the state / the pregnant waitress / hums / an improv tune / Uh huh hah / drowning out / the Fox News morning show / and I’m grateful for her /distracted oblivion / the way she says / last night’s lightning was amazing / grace is the horse / on her shirt / the gallop / away from everything / nothing / wondering if the cells / dividing in her womb are / an act of resistance / or negligence / at some point the sun will / find us / but the price is / blood / honey / milkweed / and more blood / precious things with triggers / and rivers / and rushing legs / you hold what you can when / the world is filled with water / but all you have / are fingers / when you can’t see how / to catch this tear / in your hand / the only constellation I can see / is of me / and a gun / and snow / is it snow / falling around me / if I hold my hands / out / will anything be caught / a light sneeze / a shirt covered in improv holes / the black trench coat / I wore in high school / a bulletproof / backpack / the sun / is it hurt / as it finally turns / the corner on us / as it opens its mouth / can it just pull us in / snow and skin and broken hearts / melting / on the sun’s tongue / I can’t deal / with sight / with vision / so I turn / toward the remaining snow / I whisper / Hey, Jupiter / is anything going to change / Jupiter / tell me / still / could it be a pretty good year / Jupiter / tell me / how fast / do we have to run
Anthony Frame is an exterminator from Toledo, Ohio, where he lives with his wife. He is the author of A Generation of Insomniacs and of four chapbooks, including Where Wind Meets Wing (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2018) and To Gain the Day (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2015). He is also the editor/publisher of Glass Poetry Press, which publishes the Glass Chapbook Series and Glass: A Journal of Poetry. His work has appeared in Third Coast, Muzzle Magazing, The Shallow Ends, Harpur Palate, and Verse Daily, among others, and in the anthologies Drawn to Marvel: Poems from the Comic Books (Minor Arcana Press, 2014), Come As You Are: An Anthology of 90s Pop Culture (Anomalous Press, 2018), and Not That Bad: Dispatches from the Rape Culture (HarperCollins, 2018). He has twice been awarded Individual Excellence Grants from the Ohio Arts Council.