Forty-Second Entry

I'm pretty excited/freaked-out by the fact that I am the first confederate soldier killed in the Civil War. as proven here: http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~njm1/21robert.htm . And his name is often confused with the name Christian, which is almost what I was named because I was born near Chrismas.

Also, do you remember "Civil War" by GunsNRoses? Was that a really lame song or what? And didn't it have a quote from Cool Hand Luke in it? What is the relevance of that? I loved it though, I'm sure, or I wouldn't remember that.

Today's poem is part of a four poem project with Catherine Meng, a fellow CSF alumni, but we weren't there at the same time. Because of that we're now collaborators. We are writing two poems a piece that mention 40 previously picked words (which we picked together). I am making it sound WAY more complicated than it is, but that's just me I guess.

Here's my poem:

WEEKEND

You make my cheeks flush red, ducking
waist-deep in the grassy knoll. I like it when
you finger my buttonhole as the sparking stars fade.
My tin suitcase sits on burnt umber table, eleven
and a half days ago it lay on my bed, agape,
me happily chucking clothes into its craw
with Jonathan Richman on the radio, yelping ‘Radio on,’

nine and a half days ago it propped open the door
while you and I, timorous sport-hunters,
trailed spiders until chills ran up the stairs.
My spine squeaks as the kelp dilutes in my tea.
Your oval face means very much to me
as we scrub vigorously in the mirror to get the paint
off of our faces, I like the suitcase you gave me by the way.