July 2024
Bio Note: I am a poet and novelist whose recent books include Strange Meadowlark (Ragged Sky Press, 2023) and The Talon Trilogy (Madville, 2022, 2023, 2024). I am the Founding Editor of Vox Populi, an online community of poets and activists, and I am the Founding Editor Emeritus of Autumn House Press, a publisher of literary books — for which I received a 2011 Certificate of Recognition from the Pennsylvania Legislature for my contribution to the arts. I identify as being on the autism spectrum. I currently live in the historic Pittsburgh neighborhood of Mount Washington and work as a peer counselor for opioid addicts.
The Skateboarder
We feel a roar
Of vibration in the sidewalk
As we pass beneath the glass towers
Downtown, the fierce immediacy
Of the boy flipping the skateboard
Into, out of slides and grinds
Riding a steel hand rail
While pushing the limits
Of resistance as he flies
What I remember
As a useless Christmas toy
And lands like a miracle on the sidewalk
Without colliding with startled pedestrians
Observing the usual rules
Of space and time
The boy inventing art from conversation
Between body and air
Bending the city to his delinquent will
An aesthetic of big pants small wheels
A lexicon of tricks and obstacles
Not sport but defiance
Not lifestyle but thrust and risk
A kick, an aversion to common sense
The danger practiced refined remembered
Until perfection is permanent, the body
Retaining music the way
Wings remember flight
And lament the return to earth
Where summer has begun
Balmy undefined felicitous
A suffering of desire
An impatience with the assortment of lies
He’s left behind as he practices
A brave balance, his reflection fleeting
In the black glass of the window
He skates past the No Skating sign
An immaculate precision
In his rebellion no more personal
Than a summer storm I hide from
Beneath the canopy of my routine
I am what the skateboarder defies
His middle finger raised in salute as he rolls by
Does a quick ollie
Kickflip heelflip popping the nose of the board
In a backwards gingersnap between his legs
Sliding down the rail again
Arms held ready for balance
Falling a certainty
For the rest of us, not for him
What survives the plunge
Looks like anger
But it’s art pushing his body
Into dark speed, precarious rapture
Hearth Song for Danusha
I can’t tell you how much
This time together has meant to me
We held hands and crossed the frozen field together
We counted birds as they returned
We noticed flowers lifting their faces
To the sun. We felt joy
And praised each other even when we failed
As we had to, the secrets too heavy
To carry by ourselves. And you always
Shared your happiness, even when you spoke
Of sorrow, sitting in a chair, rocking a frail child
You knew was fading, even as you sang
To him, nothing was enough
And yet you sang and you sang again
And you listened and taught us to sing as well
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL