She calls me
zhu tou
and stares at me–
expecting an answer.
I blink,
lean closer.
“Zhu tou,” she says again,
pointing at me.
Am I supposed to know
what this means?
Did I learn it in class?
Did she teach it to me recently?
My smile is confusion.
I nod politely.
“You,” pointing at me,
“Zhu tou.”
What the fuck?
She explains:
It means
head of the pig.
I’m more confused.
Why is she
making fun of me?
She says it’s a cute name,
for very close friends
or more.
Well, that makes sense,
but I don’t like it.
It’s not a good name.
She looks confused now.
I explain:
I’m Jewish–
pigs aren’t kosher,
and “pig headed”
isn’t a good thing
in English.
She won’t call me
zhu tou again.

Matthew Lubin

Wind dancers
dancing to the
willow wind,
leaves swaying
right to left
all day long.
I’m depressed.
Birds hanging on-
bleaching feathers
out into
the sun.

Michael Lee Johnson
 

You grew and you grew until you stopped growing
And there they planted a tree to mark your height;
Existence was measured in feet and inches,
Infancy meted out with a yardstick..

When you were tall enough, you walked away forever
Returning occasionally for holidays or a wedding
But soon not even those. You lost track of the tree
Standing alone in the yard, an orchard of one.

Then everyone else walked away, too. House and porch
Belong to others now. The cemetery
Is still there at the end of the road, beyond the curve
near the communal gardens, cramped and overgrown.
The dead don’t walk away so easily.

Occasionally, you still pass by. Between the tall pines
Your father planted, you spy on other lives
Unfolding as yours once did. You wave politely. Smiling 
They wave back, welcoming you: stranger, time traveler.

Marc Alan Di Martino

This poem was published in a slightly different version here.

The typing finger having hit
<return> moves on;
Nor all your groans nor careful wit
can <del> one bit.
Colleagues, it’s gone.

Louie Crew

(The media invasion after the Virginia Tech massacre on April 16, 2007)

Click
Center focus, zoom in
I can feel them burning into the back of my neck with oversized eyes and fame
seeking hunger
The tears spilling down my cheeks can’t be shielded, and I’ve tried before
They fall freely and gracefully down past my freckles and the lenses drink them
up
Click
The mascara under my eyes is a target, the pain that can be wiped away unlike
the suffering in my eyes
It shines out through the water glass that coats my eyelids and they think its
beautiful
The blood that runs from my lips as I bite it to keep from crying only merits a
new roll of film to catch the reddest drop
Click
An arm around you only invites an invasion
They are cold stones that were planted when you took a moment to blink
As soon as you can see again they’re there, everywhere, surrounding you with
black, soulless faces
The push and click and whir and most of the time don’t say a word
They aren’t after you, they’re after your misery
Click
If you kneel, or sit, or light a candle, if you cry, or squirm, or hug, or kiss,
if you bend, bow, stumble, curtsey, salute, shake hands, hate, love, they watch
and follow and chase and click
They are stones that will surround you, you can kick them but will only break a
toe, you can yell but stones cannot hear, you beg and plead and bargain, but
stone has no heart
Click
They will center focus, zoom in, catch the new zit on your cheek as a tear runs
by it to escape the soulless eye
Tears don’t want fame and fortune, they want solace and privacy, they are meant
to grieve and not be exploited, they go as fast as they can but its never
enough
Click
Our pain is plastered on the WebPages and newsreels all over the world for
people to watch while mom cuts up the meatloaf and dad feeds the dog
they’ll shake their heads and say, that’s too bad, while little Timmy swings a
baseball bat at his sisters head
They’ll cover their food in ketchup and then change the channel to wheel of
fortune
Click
Our pain didn’t come with a dial, we can’t change the channel, or wait for the
program to end
What we fall asleep with is what we wake up with, and there are enough images
burned into our hears so that we will never need a photograph to remember it
But just in case we do…
Click
There’s another one that will be on CNN in an hour

Meredith Vallee