JJ Goss , Poet

jj goss resides with her husband in central Massachusetts. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in publications such as Happy, The New England Writers Journal, The Beltane Papers, Net Authors E2K, Babel, Branches Quarterly, Amarillo Bay, Copious and Lightening Bell. Her short story, Missing a Beat, was nominated for a 2001 Pushcart Prize.

Limbo Babies


they go
when there's not enough room
in the backseat and the starter home
has no ending
limbo babies
ride in the car with snowsuit mitten kids
to the laboratory
mom's blood is red and warm
like her hands on her stomach as if
she can stop it as if
she has choices
limbo babies have dirty faces
diapers need changing and no one
to give them flouride drops and vitamins
no one to comfort them
in the middle of the night in the middle
of right and wrong
of good and evil
like mom
in the car praying to the virgin
who hadn't planned it either
who smiles while the snake whispers
the answer from the fork in his tongue
nothing is quite so delicious
as a good bargain
my dear her fingers are warm
when she presses the buttons
cancels the appointment
she keeps him
at arms length she's tired
of the old position
salt on the apple punch in the rib
the branch snaps under her weight
and a steady beat is heard
through the stethoscope

small necessities


I need a hunter to clear the path
so I can gather
some small necessities
berries herbs maybe some flowers
and the crumbs of myself I dropped
along the way velvet things
taffeta things
opened toed faux furry things
barefoot days and slow cooking days
I need to gather
the tales and wind them into a ball
knit them together to keep the children warm
hunter man bring me meat
lift heavy things for me
logs and rocks
fears the night cold
days I can't see the sun

Leaving the Bed Unmade and Other Sins


he said she never finished anything
she started but she could no longer feel
responsible for the poor and the starving somewhere
she'd never been she licked the plate and her lips
time to get ready for the next victim
in a string
of copy cat crimes

he never rented a hotel room afraid
she'd hide there in the middle of the party
lay with her cheek to the tiles cool
on her burning face
she hates pin the tail on the donkey
doesn't like what she sees when the blindfold's on
try to sneak past the mothers in the kitchen
it's supposed to be fun but her shoes hurt
and her face from smiling and her eyes from
what she tries not to see behind her back
at least there's M & M s and potato chips
hide and seek hide the sweet
with the salt the sting with the syrup the sad
with the hokey pokey turn yourself around
another chair is missing one less place for her
that's what it's all about

in the hotel lobby the desk clerk pretends
to book a reservation and the janitor
inspects the overstuffed chair overturned
he moves slow toward the door pushed away
from the all you can eat
breakfast buffet
ten years of practice sessions[line end[
with captain crunch behind her
and happiness no longer riding
on her french toast or weekly clean sheets
it's easy to say goodbye over breakfast when
the clean toilet and matching towels are no longer
important when it might be ok if you didn't
take your shoes off before you came in
of course it's entirely possible
I suppose that the fate
of the world depends on things like this

Communion


there's forty two checks
in the absentee boxes I pray
every half hour drink warm milk
from small glass bottles
remember good girls don't leave
crumbs under the desk
watch them spin around at recess
multicolored reminders on the pavement
listen to them speak in serpent tongues
they wet their pants during the dress rehearsal

my musical notes sit on top of each other
you tell me my voice lacks expression
still they're stopping at every station
lighting candles talking dirty dead languages
you're cool and dry on my tongue
the incense is censored the chalice
filled with vinegar I spit you out
blood on the laced trimmed hanky
my face cracks my hands must remain folded

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