July 13, 2023

Brent Fisk

MAKING A LIVING

I’m dreaming of the place in the woods
where the deer sleeps, the hole in the grass where it hid.
Mother dreams of coffee cups rimmed with lipstick,
of white plates, knife-marked, stacked along a counter.
And father has gone to the factory,
leaves only a space in the snow where the car covered gravel,
leaked oil, a few paw prints where the cat kept warm.
My father banging on the beaten hood
scared the cat to safety and me from sleep.
I float at the fringe of dawn,
sense my mother’s still sleeping, my father not long gone.
Sleep has the warmth of blankets.
Years of scraped ice accumulate,
and decades of cars fighting movement like cold knuckles.
Even in his sleep my father works,
dreams of snipped wires, of clocking in,
of waiting for the whistled shift change,
that stream of pot-bellied men gray with wolfish beards,
their safety glasses and steel-toed boots,
their rough hands clutching time cards like lottery tickets.
More ice scraping, the mailbox stuffed with bills,
all the bad news at six o’clock, a tough pot roast, a ratty afghan.
The water heater ticks away like a clock.
Today pulls out, a punctual train,
and already tomorrow triggers the crossing gate.
Hours pass like cattle cars, and way at the end—
retirement’s sad caboose.
This train flattens men like worn pennies.
This train waits for the end of my father.
The hole of him sitting at the end of my bed,
waiting for me to wake and take his place.

from Rattle #24, Winter 2005

__________

Brent Fisk: “I try to nail down a time and place with words. I want an image to walk down a dark hall with just the tip of a cigarette to let you know it’s coming. I want the right words to rise like moths from the grass. Sometimes when you get close enough to accomplishing that readers tap into a poem. They hear the floorboards creak. They hear the window rattle. They see the moon exactly as I describe it. Getting that close is like finding a wad of money in an old shirt’s pocket.”

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March 30, 2019

Brent Fisk

PRESENT

Unlearning the language,
her tongue becomes pure muscle, its strength
lies in secrets and silence.
Her eyes have the look of surprise,
the gaze of someone answering a door.
Long past confusing daughter with mother,
or sister with childhood friend,
she waits in a bright blue dress
on her 83rd birthday,
legs crossed at the ankle,
a smile stuck to her lips.
She knows to unwrap the present
her son places on her lap.
Her eyes shine like ribbon.
She is in another childhood
and wants to open every package,
even the gifts of others.
She unwraps herself,
each layer crumpled and torn.
She used to save ribbon, paper,
neat squares of color folded like love letters,
salvaged if not cherished.
She started all stories with
I remember.
She is an empty box,
her life is in the unwrapping.

from Rattle #27, Summer 2007

__________

Brent Fisk: “I try to nail down a time and place with words. I want an image to walk down a dark hall with just the tip of a cigarette to let you know it’s coming. I want the right words to rise like moths from the grass. Sometimes when you get close enough to accomplishing that readers tap into a poem. They hear the floorboards creak. They hear the window rattle. They see the moon exactly as I describe it. Getting that close is like finding a wad of money in an old shirt’s pocket.”

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December 11, 2010

Brent Fisk

DRUG FACTS

(Continued)

Warnings
Allergy alert:
Ibuprofen may cause a severe allergic reaction which may include: • bee hives • ego swelling • post-coital drip • electric shock.

Stomach bleeding warning: Taking more than recommended may cause stomach bleeding or death, as many people use Ibuprofen to commit suicide but our legal and advertising departments would prefer that you use another painkiller if you plan on doing yourself in. Please see a doctor if you are considering this option. And a friendly reminder, suicide by Ibuprofen may cause stomach bleeding.

Alcohol warning: If after consuming three or more alcoholic drinks, you then consume three or more alcoholics, please slow down you gluttonous, drunken cannibal.

Do Not Use • if you swell like Alice in Alice in Wonderland, or you get tied down by little people as Gulliver did in Lilliput. Swelling of this sort may be due to a serious underlying literary problem worth exploring with an out-of-work English major. Also if you have ever had an allergic reaction to telling the truth, or you can’t tolerate direct exposure to the light or to other people’s small children. Ibuprofen may also cause stomach bleeding and is, in fact, the Latin word for stomach bleeding.

Ask a doctor out on a date. If the date leads to marriage you may not need to find a job, even if you are an English major. Just because you are an English major doesn’t mean you will understand all the legal jargon in a prenuptial, so see a lawyer if you develop serious romantic entanglements. Do not begin a relationship with the lawyer while seeing the doctor as this can lead to complications.

Ask a doctor before use if you have • been caught sleeping with his wife • have trouble urinating because strange people are following you into the public restrooms and you can’t urinate when you’re being watched • you have recently become more litigious • you have sloughed off the lining to your stomach • you have awakened with a drug company executive’s severed head beneath your pillow.

Ask a doctor or pharmacist before use if you are • emotionally distant or damaged • frustrated with the childproof packaging to the point you have purchased a gun • have three or more erections at a time • have Jack’s magic beans lodged in your rectum • have been having vivid sexual fantasies about Richard Nixon and his little dog Checkers • have been thinking of picking up a new hobby, say, oh, stomach bleeding for instance.

When using this product • do not use a shotgun to administer the dosage. Take with a spoonful of lard if stomach upset occurs, or wrap the pill in bacon and trick yourself into taking it by placing it in a bowl of snack food.

Stop use and ask doctor if • he knows any proctologists who enjoy the whole “pull my finger” joke routine • If he has ever played a doctor on TV • If he finds you any less attractive just because he sees naked people all the time, because you are here in front of him, naked, free for dinner, and so lonely you have begun writing poetry and talking to the television.

If pregnant or breast-feeding, ask a health professional before use, particularly if you are male, if the children do not belong to you, or are over the age of eight, or if the blood from your stomach is tainting your breast milk, or you’ve decided to have eighteen children because you want your own reality show.

Keep out of reach of children. Keep children out of reach. Do not sell children on the Internet. Do not give out Ibuprofen to children at Halloween even if they fit nicely in a Pez dispenser. Keep out of the reach of Dick Cheney, especially if he is having a heart attack and an Ibuprofen might save his life.

Avoid excessive heat, particularly hell. Read all warnings and directions before use. Keep carton. Keep the faith. Keep your mouth shut. We know where you live.

from Rattle #33, Summer 2010
Tribute to Humor

__________

Brent Fisk: “This poem came out of an exercise during a summer workshop with Denise Duhamel. I just took the oddspeak one finds on the sides of most over-the-counter medications and stretched it out to its illogical conclusion. I’ve always been intrigued by the subtext behind most safety warnings, so this was a fun little thing to try.”

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