200words.

I googled dark and Roethke, thinking I’d just pull a poem from the
Internet for this week’s submission and thinking that Roethke must’ve
surely written something on the topic. I can still see images from
poems of his I read in high school. Busted geranium pots, foul mouthed
alcoholic fathers, headlights dieing as the blizzard sets in.

Theodore Roethke’s poem “In a Dark Time” came up at
http://gawow.com/roethke/poems/231.html along with the notion that, “If you’re a fan of his work it’s probably because of this piece.” The poem is ridiculous. Who knew this was how people found Roethke?

I’ve been reading a collection of his letters. Short self-referential
little numbers that make the modern email look elaborate. He’s writing from the University of Washington. It’s sunny in Seattle when I picture him in his little cottage.

A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!

What is it with the dark and hyperbole? What gives it permission? Not only three headed circus freaks but three headed circus freaks where one of the heads has a particularly tragic story. Not only stormy nights but bloody murders and curses!

The dark tempestuous sky, eerie and unnatural for early afternoon
Ceaseless thunder crashing, jarring teeth and earth
Dark water accumulating, first in puddles and then into streams
And soon the dirt road is no longer visible

Inside the dark house it is unusually quiet
No power, no television, no fun
Filling the empty space with calm games
This inner silence does not last

Her dark shape coming in from the garage
Naked save for a white sheet slowing darkening
Illuminated in a flash of lightening arterial blood gushing
Seeping into the cracks between the floor tiles
Staining the baseboards

A darkness fell over the house as her lifeblood seeped out
Quick, call for help! but the phone is out
Quick, run for help! but the streets are flooded
Quick, swim for help! through the dark watery street

Finally, finally the darkness is broken
Flashing lights and screaming sirens
The gathering of the lifeless form in sheets no longer white
Taking her away through the dark empty streets
And the only thing she thought to say was “You stupid bitch”

For my brother

When you were small
Dark hair baby fine soft
The first day I realized I liked you I kissed you on the head over and
over again
Mom and dad have the pictures to prove it
You smelled like apple juice

Dark hair in a bowl cut
Bangs framing your face
Exploring in the dark of the basement
Trying to keep quiet and scaring ourselves by keeping the lights off

Dark hair in a skater cut accompanied by big jeans and big t-shirts
Driving in the dark from a friend’s house we’d talk and
I’d revel in how much I loved you and
How lucky I felt to have you as a friend, not just a brother

Dark hair mixed with bleached streaks
You were a little crazy
As all first years are at one point or another
Coming to visit me at the coffee shop
Just a short walk from your dorm
To drink coffees and spend a little time
Catching up

Now
You have short short dark hair
A buzz cut interspersed with little patches of silver
Did you get those from dad?
No dark hair in the face
That looks so adult to me now

I was forced to attend a fundamentalist church until I was sixteen years old. One of the only cool things about fundamental crazy-town was going to church camp every summer. With the exception of all the Bible study, church camp was super-cool as a kid.

One summer when I was about ten I started hanging out with this blind guy named Dave. Dave was cool…and when I say cool…I mean he could take his fucking eyes out of his fucking eye sockets! No shit…he really did that. Any ten year old kid would pay admission to see that….I got to see it for free every night in our cabin. Dave had a braille watch, and folded the corners of his money…so cool.

One day I tried to explain light and dark. I was ten years old, and didn’t really know where to start. My explanation was this…(word for word) “Dave, what you are seeing right now is called darkness. The opposite of that is called light.” And that was all I said. I often wonder if Dave remembers my genius.

I met you when we moved to the coast. It was always at night and you were always with your gang. A howling tangle of black jeans, scarves, leather and hair, looking for trouble on the boardwalk. I followed you to the beach. Since when did my ego demand a response to every schoolboy challenge? it was your danger and annihilating eyes that kept me along. I had to find out what was going to happen. Being led astray is a delicious sensation.

We drove our motorcycles in the fog through the sand. You showed me your secret hideout and shared your dinner. They’re only noodles, Michael. I started to dress like you, wear shades all the time. I met you in the woods for a party.

Now you are one of us, you claimed, but that was never really true. Great self-indulgence requires great cruelty and I do not have the stomach for either. I do not want to hunt and feed. You say you tried to make me immortal. I say you tried to make me a killer.