five poems
Hartford poet brett a. maddux shares five poems from his latest release blackbird, 4pm.
Written & Photographed by brett a. maddux
brett a. maddux is a poet from hartford & the creator of the instagram series @dinersofconnecticut. his first collection of poems, regent (Silk House Publishing,) was released in 2016. regent was written in diners, in conversations with friends about love & death & happiness & sadness & fear & joy & sex & religion & loneliness & attention & art, in the year after his mother died. here are five poems from his latest release blackbird, 4pm, a book of poems which can be purchased at whichiswhypress.com.
retail, 8am
new fear
tuesday morning miracle
calling in
my bets on
all the horses
never placed
& I am due
a minor fortune
to carry me
back through the streets
of my childhood
babysitter crippled
middle school librarian
yellow hardcover
first nipple I ever saw
mormon grocers
elegant nurses
putting their fingers
in my third grade asshole
a man
once said
I'd never amount
to anything
more than
my mother
grinding her teeth
away every night
hospital visitations
miniature smiles
& if I ever
make it out of
this town
alive
long odds
two bits
on the smallest colt
if not all the way
at least half
what comes next
is anticlimax
the god of
meager losses
the last photograph
remaining of eyes
early morning
breakfast
cigarette lips
in winter hair
still messy
from sex
under blankets
bloody knee
concrete congregation
if it ain't holy
at least it's painful
& they don't say
it that way
now do they
they don't pray
for arthritic housemaids
low wage department store
cash register clerks
taking the piss
out of mega church
pastor porcelain
coupons housewives
can I talk to
your manager
her heart still
beating beneath
her apron
hi my name is
cindy
can I
help you
yes mother
I still
love you
what comes next
is revelation
journey
without
destination
wrist brace
back ache medication
some paul harvey
recitation
on your childhood
radio station
every song
sounds like
salvation
that is her
laughter
in the cobwebs
that is her
singing
in the attic
those are her
teeth turned
into dust
that is her
love
that calls
the cat in
lungs, 11am
so much harder
to look it
in the eye
when it is smiling
back patting good old boys
to take the bark off trees
so much harder
to say sorry
if you never
really mean it
online shopping sibling coffins
a good deal if you can get it
free shipping lungs filling
I hear misery
don't come
cheap
so much
sweeter
to drink
my sister's
blood
when she dies
young
& preventably
honey
keep the noise down
daddy is watching
his shows
in this one
all my devils
dress business casual
shake hands
with wise men
& naked angels
in this one
mother draws a bath
& I wash her hair
while she opens
her veins
in lukewarm water
in this one
I tell you my name
but you do not hear it
in this one
I have coins enough
to pay off
those barking dogs
bounty what my soul
is worth bound to
drain her bathwater
drown me if I
get too close
a river where
the light flows
upstream
toward the scent
of something
permanent
& there is no night
I have found
where there are not
bones to
outlive me
gently worn away
by coursing water
& when there is
no blood left
somewhere tender
let her body lick
my lungs clean
& I will be
ready
let the dogs have
my soul
& I will be
ready
let my mother know
I am sorry
& I will be
ready
indifference, 9pm
/inˈdif(ə)rəns/
the good old days
opulence poverty
tolerance bigotry
decadence misery
black white brown
gay straight queer
they them he she
maybe you should
buy a new car
maybe then you'll be happy
a lack of empathy
a dog you bury in the backyard
a coworker you tell about your sex life
a desire to ignore consequence
a peak over the fence
to see what they have
& ain't it pretty
& ain't they perfect
& maybe someday
you'll be
happy too
a kiss on the cheek
a quiet glance over dinner
why won't they just be quiet
the good old days
back when everything was better
before they started paying attention
a bus that takes you halfway home
a car that parks in the middle of the street
a man who says he loves you but doesn't mean it
a daughter who is already smarter than her father
portraits of the artists as young men
in a country that does not want them
to become old men unless they
stay quiet follow directions easy does it
the news at 11 let's hear from both sides
the working class want jobs
the working class want their kids to go to college
the working class want warfare in the streets
the working class want safe neighborhoods
where the cops only kill people
who don't look like them
drugs are bad or
prescriptions are good or
my daughter died of an overdose or
my son is a doctor or
my mother manic west 5th
christmas presents in july or
my father's cough drop
drunken elevator conversation
did you see the game or
etc. etc.
they get
what they
deserve
fiends discreet charm of the bourgeoisie
after these messages from coca cola
I was born
in a house
built on
indifference
four walls
one roof
two people
no love
indifference to a truth
so loud you can barely hear it
yes that is your blood moving
no your child won't make it out alive
the good old days
indifference to a lie
so quiet you cannot ignore it
remember how pies cooled
on summer windowsills
& the milkman knew
your first name but still
called you ma'am
such a polite boy
those were the good old days
& your daughter died
in an alleyway
because the doctor knew
her first name
& what would the neighbors think
& oh how those birds clack
their beaks & the pastor
says a special prayer
for wayward sheep
for aborted grandchildren
for loosened altar boy belt buckles
& there are holy things
on this earth
& oh how the lord god
tends his flock
& oh weren't those
the good old days
god, 5am
god up to no good
floating on
forgiveness like
some book she read
& if any arms
are chariot
go tell this one
on the mountain
there are queens
to make
believers
of men
ha
every soul
congregant
to make any flesh
saint
please
stop
laughing
& when god
came to town
she wore
her winter coat
& when god's hands
grew cold
she buried them
in mittens
& when god
finally made the sound
of marie's harp
sing so tender
& falling
off the bone
every night ends
just like this
like ambrosia
on your lips
something holy
why do they say
grace
every light crawls
through winter's shade
& your cigarettes
taste
like grandma smelled
ha ha
& all that emptiness
& all those black birds
& they call this morning
ha ha ha
oh god give me
a tree until you
fill my cup
& I was not baptized in the sink
& I did not eat the bread you left for me
& where is that forgiveness I have begged for
& why is god's blood
so full
of light
& why don't angels sound
like I thought they would
& please
do not
stop
dancing
in darkest alleyway
traffic with
your brother
to be given
something
so loud
bring the birds high
bring the sky low
let the trees sing
bring the strings in
glory glory hallelujah
oh lord
come to carry
me home
& why is god's cat
still laughing
so feral
so crawling
so alone
to die in hartford
is to live
in pretty whiskey,
on pete's vacant balcony
in a sunshine that is clean.
to die as arches
ring you through
in candlelight,
the women
you love
always running
fifteen minutes late
& you
don't mind. a man
you have never been, a mercy
you will never earn,
& the laundromat
never closes
& the bodega
always carries
your cigarettes
& her last dress
is still
wrinkled
on the stoop.
to die in hartford is to fall
in love and really mean it:
answers to the question,
time in the body collected,
to need touch so desperately
you can taste it
on your lips come morning.
sage of the little river,
safe in tender kisses,
it seems the city knows
we are not meant to be
alone.
someday sound
someday
sound for
someday sound for
the sake of
sound
for the sake of sound
will be enough,
our bodies ten years older,
our couch a decade softer,
from the kitchen
you tell me
how your day was,
voice echoing down
the corridor,
days echoing
days before.
a larger truth unrealized,
some harder fruit near clementines,
the pear that is somehow always
in your hand.
let me be
smoke break conversations
until I am
grocery aisle smiles,
my love I swear
back then I was not
quite myself.
a list of all your favorite novels,
a quiet terror, a mercy constant,
your slender cheeks
warmed by summer,
the face
you make when you are
angry.
I still remember.
am I still tender,
known as early morning splendor,
some childhood memory that blends
in with your dreams.
the man I claim I'll be
when I grow up:
the one to make you sunday breakfast,
all your dead dogs resurrected,
our bodies dancing in the night sweat.
when I run out of clean movement
please hold my hand,
I'll start the kettle
if it snows.
for you I'll give up
smoking, grow a belly,
sweep the kitchen
while you are sleeping,
I know it isn't easy
& I know it shouldn't be.
for you I'll give up
all my wandering,
bathe more often,
brew the coffee.
scratch your back
when you've awoken
from bad dreams.
to die in hartford
is to at last
find the front yard
grown with tall grass,
the raptured scent
of your morning breath
still rattling
my chest.
it will
go on
like this
forever.
to live in hartford,
a half-earned
blessing, I promise
I am glowing
so close
to the light.
goodnight
to a city
baptized and forgiven,
goodnight
to blackbirds
from the window
in my kitchen,
goodnight
to any place
that isn't here,
goodnight
my love
your streets
still echo
& call that memory
& call that what it really is
& call my father when
its over
& tell him I died
doing what I loved
& tell him I loved
hartford
while I had
the chance
& tell him the sound
he hears
each morning
is the blackbirds
singing me
home.
last night
in bed
beside you
I heard
the first song
we ever danced to
I heard
my last breath
wear your glasses
I heard
the night fall
something classic
& I swore you heard it too.
a sound just like your old piano,
a god for all your childhood animals,
a way of giving up
on all we've left behind.
your heart, it shines
me all my mercies,
lights my way
to draw the curtains,
I heard
the sound
for the sake of
sound for the
sake
of home
still rhymes
with your flesh.
I heard
your bones
still pink &
glowing
beneath our bed.
I am sorry
for the man
I claim to be
in poetry
but for you
I swear I'll publish,
quake my dust off,
cut the bullshit,
I promise someday
I will make you
proud of me.
singing hymns
against your new skin,
window dint of bedroom movement,
if you will let me
be forgiven
I'll bring oranges
to the kitchen,
I hope I die
before you find
out who I am.
only one truth
left to offer,
praise it how
they told me not to,
cigarette with morning coffee,
I have seen the holy places
in the sun.
if we've only got
one life here
it is not time enough
for your company,
please slow me down
to squeeze
the last drop
from your rind.
oh hartford,
did you miss me?
did you find me
where you left me?
oh hartford
can't you see
I missed you too?
I swear
to speak more if you'll hear me,
to sleep more when I'm weary,
to sing your name into the evening,
to not say iowa
each time
the hurt is new.
I swear
to god
someday
I'll love you,
I promise
I won't be afraid to.
I'd wait
forever
just so I could
tell you so.
Follow brett a. maddux on instagram @brettmaddux and his time spent in diners throughout Connecticut @dinersofconnecticut. blackbird, 4pm can be purchased at whichiswhypress.com.