Chris Vannoy, Poet

Sunday's Ritual

In my dream
The clowns made me laugh
And I fell asleep with you on my pillow
We covered ourselves
In the innocence of others
Cold spilled coffee
Puddle when the sun broke
After we had coupled
And lay catching our breaths

Pushed away from the bed by hunger
We baptized ourselves together
In a spring of found wishes
Then devoured French toast
Powdered with sugar

I ate the bacon
Filled with cholesterol
You sipped tea made of strawberries

The day passed
Slower than yesterday
Where sleep had snatched the afternoon
From my unconscious hand

Oscar smiled at me
From on top of his dollar filled pedestal
He said to me that
This year's music awards

Had gone to a group
That he never heard of
As rows of accountants
Ciphered messages into mysterious code
Understood by suited worms that live in a big apple

New cars traveled sleek freeways
With brains trapped inside molded plastic
They were frantic to inform me
That my door was a jar
The opened door creaked its answer to the stairs
But is sounded the alarm and I woke
With you on my pillow

To those who would ask

My uncle has a picture
From World War Two
He showed it to me
A pit dug
In the earth
Flesh stretched across bone
Bodies stacked in a mass grave

That same night
Man landed on the moon
Tranquility base established
First footsteps
The flag extended on metal pole
A giant leap
For mankind

I remember walking out of the house
In Arkansas City, Kansas
And looking up
To see the moon that men now walked on
Blazing white, and full, and round

The picture
That he took
Stays with me
Captured in black and white
Faces staring up
At moonlight
But seeing nothing
Mouths open
Leaving only me to tell the story
Of what I saw
Embedded
In the eyes of the moon

When you leave me

When you leave me
disappear down the staircase
and out of the door
my heart goes with you
to lie beside you as you sleep
my voice whispers
in your ear
about tomorrow
about the days after
when I will hold you again
with tenderness and longing
my heart is saddened when you leave
after the warmth of your body leaves me
and I am alone in the night
I pull the covers over me
and over the place where you were
cradled in my arms
and I can still feel you there
I still listen for your breathing
still feel your presence
next to me in the bed as I fall asleep
but I know that you are gone
know that I am with you
where ever you go
know that I am held in your thoughts
the way I hold you in mine.

Road Traveled

She is sad now
Reaches her hand towards mine
And tells me
There is a restlessness in her
Talks of Europe & New York & New Orleans
& of leaving this place that saddens her
Where the days of the year grow longer
Rush swiftly by her
Call for the movement of her feet
To catch the moment in her heart
Where she looks back at me
To wonder where I will go
When she is gone

I watch as she paces
The cage she has been built around herself
And gaze at the green grass she paints
Through the broken picket fence
With a long brush on the end of a wooden stick
And I ask her if she knows that the paint
Will crinkle and fade when she is gone
And I am here

I crumble printed pages into a ball
Toss them
One by one
Into the wire mesh metal basket
One by one
They find their place
Where gravity and consequence
Stop their bouncing roll

And I think about taking
A picture of this pile
To give to her for her trip
And of telling her
that I will be here
Waiting

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