Rorschach
by Matt Pasca
In 1985, my crush on Whitney Houston
helped me through latchkey benders
of cool whip & sauerkraut
I execute wasted motion by lethal injection
A crowded beach obscures beauty the way
clutter slows my wifi connection to God
Men wield insecurity like damascene blades
A broken guitar string can be used as a tourniquet
Life is a windshield, a bearing wall, a first aid
kit, a colonnade scorched by an ancient sun
no one has forgiven
I am aware my use of time is unsustainable
Sometimes I write in Arabic or Cuneiform
or Sanskrit only it is none of these
A thousand hungry trout swirl in hatchery shallows like revenge
In 1967, my mother typed my father’s poems instead of her own
If we shake hands, it means I’ve not yet found a way to love you
I would have been a willing tourniquet for Whitney Houston
In 1989, my father died in a wheelchair
in a hospital lounge, having never
learned to make me talk
Some damascene blades hang
over dinner tables, unsheathed
When I talk to my younger
son, I am a broken
guitar string—nothing
is guaranteed but wasted motion
MATT PASCA is a poet, teacher and traveler who believes in art’s ability to foster discovery, empathy and justice. He has authored two poetry collections—A Thousand Doors (2011 Pushcart nominee) and Raven Wire (2017 Eric Hoffer Book Award Finalist)—and serves as Assistant Poetry Editor of 2 Bridges Review. In his corner of New York, Matt curates Second Saturdays @Cyrus, a popular poetry series, and spreads his unwavering faith in critical thought and word magic to his Poetry, Mythology and Literature students at Bay Shore High School, where he has taught for 22 years and been named a New York State Teacher of Excellence. www.mattpasca.com
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