LATE FRAGMENT
—from Rattle #23, Summer 2005
__________
Glenn McKee: “I suffer from a 60-year-old habit of tearing poetry off my life. Not many pages of my life remain, and those that do hang on like surgical tape plastered on a hairy body. Nevertheless, I intend to write myself out of life.”
LESTER’S CALLING
—from Rattle #19, Summer 2003
__________
Glenn McKee: “I suffer from a 60-year-old habit of tearing poetry off my life. Not many pages of my life remain, and those that do hang on like surgical tape plastered on a hairy body. Nevertheless, I intend to write myself out of life.”
ANOTHER NIGHT NOBODY CAME ALIVE
—from Rattle #7, Summer 1997
Glenn McKee
STORY TIME AT GRANDPA’S
He talked on long after
I’d been shooed up to bed
on calamine-lotioned legs,
his voice finding a hole
through the hot air register
over the parlor stove
and, ferret-like, digging
for my ears, the end
of his story what I wanted
him to get to before
my eyes gave up to the dark,
my mind wanting to know
more about underground fires
started by striking miners
who’d set fire to a car of coal,
turned it loose on the tipple
to roll back into the earth
where it had come from,
how the timbers, then the
coal veins had been ignited,
and like a coal stove
with proper draft, burned on
underground, parching land
around New Straitsville, Ohio,
swallowing up trees, buildings,
when its firebox collapsed,
how years back it had come
so close to the schoolhouse
where my mother taught that
she feared for her students, how
even Franklin Delano Roosevelt
and his entire New Deal,
including the WPA
couldn’t put out the mine fire,
how it burned on the way
my legs did against
Grandmother’s muslin sheets,
poison ivy spreading where
my fingernails had burst blisters,
the poison ivy’s flames as good
at keeping me awake
as Grandpa’s downstairs voice
burning into my memory.
—from Rattle #9, Summer 1998
Glenn McKee
A BEAUTY SPOT
“…the strange experience of beauty.”
–Marianne Moore
I discovered a beauty spot on
my mind soon after we met.
Self-diagnosed weeks later as
benign love in situ, I’ve watched
this spot grow, its size increasing
dramatically each time it’s in your
presence as if nurtured by your beauty
and watered with your warm words.
I’ve done nothing to encourage this
growth now larger than my ability
to ignore. In non-medical terms this
translates into being unable to take my
eyes off you in your company and treating
myself when I’m alone with memories
made stronger by photographs of you.
I’ve taken an amazing amount of over- and
under-the-counter medication which
has only fixed my attention on what has grown
into your likeness everywhere in my life.
—from Rattle #17, Summer 2002
__________
Glenn McKee: “I suffer from a 60-year-old habit of tearing poetry off my life. Not many pages of my life remain, and those that do hang on like surgical tape plastered on a hairy body. Nevertheless, I intend to write myself out of life.”