New Poems by Rob Plath

 

the day my mother died 

i remember clearing out 
yr nursing home room 
the afternoon you died 
some tulips in a vase 
a little radio 
several greeting cards
a virgin mary statue 
two stuffed animals 
a few photos in frames 
rosary beads 
a cross 
all thrown into a black sack 
in the doorway i looked back 
at the stripped bed 
ready for the next 
gazed at the tree swaying 
outside the window 
then i carried the bag to the elevator 
walked out the double doors 
standing there in blasting june sun 
that refused to give me 
even a few goddamn minutes

————

postcards 

as a kid i remember 
looking at old photographs 
& believing the world 
to be simpler & happier 
seeing my slim father 
wearing a wide grin 
behind an artillery gun 
or my grandparents 
both in aprons 
w/ cigarettes dangling 
from their mouths 
dancing in the kitchen 
or my aunt & uncle 
picnicking on a grassy hill 
in new hampshire 
or my nana smiling 
w/ a hunting dog 
in a winding valley in maine 
everything safe 
& sealed off from pain 
no hint of orphanage beatings 
in my father’s beaming eyes 
no sign of mastectomy 
in my nana’s serene smile 
no clue of suicide 
in my grandmother’s 
playful pose 
no intimation of a demon 
in a bottle upon that 
checkered tablecloth 
jesus, none of this or that 
in those little postcards

————
back in the mid 1980s 
“the mall monster” 
looked like rubeus hagrid 
from harry potter 
only he had soot on his face all the time 
& white stuff in his matted hair 
it also looked like padding was stuffed 
under his flannel shirt 
the buttons almost popping 
from their stitches 
arms bulging at the seams 
& his blue work pants looked 
like two more pairs were beneath
& you could smell his terrible odor 
from 10 feet away 
he always wore the same clothes 
he never said a word 
just walked around the mall 
it always seemed as if he appeared 
out of nowhere 
children screamed 
people walked faster 
we would be drunk on a mason jar 
of one our parents’ liquors we stole 
on a friday night walking around 
trying to meet girls 
& he’d appear & we’d laugh 
& duck into a random store 
rumor was that he worked below 
the mall as a furnace cleaner 
others said he was a patient 
from a mental asylum 
years later i heard the real story 
that his wife & daughter 
were killed in a fire 
& he had tried to save them 
but was badly burned 
so distraught by the loss 
he wandered the halls of the mall 
like an inconsolable soul traversing 
the ancient valley of grief 
a sweet tearful giant’s heart beating 
beneath the ash & thick layers & scars

Read more  poems by Rob Plath here: https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/search/label/Rob%20Plath