I am constantly distracted. I should just not work this week and just give in to my desires: reading, sleeping, listening to music, writing. And a million other things.

Distracted, distracted, distracted. Damn. Anyway. One of Meyerhofer’s poems (Dust) has been floating around lately. Wonder what brought that on. He has other poems I like, especially this one (read this during those weeks after Lolo’s death):

Cardboard Urn
Michael Meyerhofer

After the funeral, your hair
and skin baked to ash,

your body brought back in a gray box
with a bag of soot inside,

box and bag on a pedestal by the table,
your brother came to see you.

He asked where you were,
and when I said By the table

he thought I said On the table
and he said Here?

peeking under the lid
of an empty drinking cup,

as though we had gone
to the local Kwik Stop

for gas and fountain drinks
then decided what the hell?

and used a cardboard Pepsi cup
for our mother’s urn.

He actually thought that,
and his eyes got wide

as he stood in the dining room,
unspeakably appalled,
staring at that cup

and mother, oh sweet jesus
how I wanted to laugh.

Remembered reading Meyerhofer before. He has a brilliant poem about death and ashes and urns (been meaning to post it but I keep forgetting). That one made me laugh because after Lolo died, that’s one of the things we discussed in the family: Lolo’s ashes, and where it will go, given the feud within my father’s family.

Anyway. I’m not really in the mood to think about that, so here’s another poem from him:

Dust
Michael Meyerhofer

It seems we’ve left skin
in each other’s lungs. I should have

looked under your bed skirt
for my wallet, but how

could credit cards compare
to the sneeze after we’ve parted?

Gone and still you make me
reach for a tissue—still my palms

turn circles in the red
breakwater of your heartbeat.

I want to tell you, I have nothing
but respect for your ribcage

now that we both know
it’s not big enough to hold us.