One Strong Wing (for Christian)


If I had one strong wing
I could fly away
said the boy with the stolen face

Burned so bad 
that death was a hope
his eyes were the only thing left beautiful
the only thing left human

All looked upon this tiny charred shell
and could not see a boy
Even his parents disavowed his once-life
now a vagueness of scars

If I had one strong wing I could fly away
I could feel the soft breeze
and not this confusion of sense
on what was once my face

Someone heard 
the quiet wail
He still had no wing
but he flew 5000 miles
He flew to where surgeons 
were sculptors of flesh 
and potters of noses

Operation 
operation 
operation 
etc.

They failed 
to make his face a child's

But the cleverest magician 
took two toes
and made two fingers appear
on the once of a hand

If I had one strong wing
I could lift a discarded life
and make it seem mine again

But I have two near-fingers
so I can feel anything again
anything 
except my face




van Gogh Says


van Gogh says to God "I do not like 
your gawky use of trees in your landscapes so 
I made my own.

You make the starry night breathe
but do not show the dynamics except 
for in creeping shadows of leaves.  

You pottered a flawless conch shell 
a billion years ago but 

what were you doing during post impressionism?"




The Relationship


She.

He.

She, He,

She? He?
She! He!

She:He
He:She

He; She
He, She,

He.

She.



Strings


I still hear his footsteps 
They scuff slowly behind me in uncomfortable shoes  

His criticisms were so matter of fact
as if they were never mentioned
but sharp praise always tasted of pride 

Money couldn't understand him
Just his presence made life an overwilling marionette 
For me, my father never pulled strings

Strings were last resorts  
His talk danced a circle 
and a smile would cameo at the right place

All would be done

He knew I'd have to learn 
to pull strings for myself  
I thank him for that 

Now I'm cursed to wonder: 
is he pulling a few for me now?
The talk has stopped
but I hear the shoes



Time Hates Love


Time 

hates love
Time 

erodes the potency
of  "I love you" 
with each repeat
Time 

steals each lovely detail from another 
we burned to praise
Time 

always makes "forever" 
into the fattest lie

But if Time turned every word 
ever spoken in love 
into a hoax 

it would make no difference

if somewhere 
somewhen 
just one kiss 
were true 


all poems copyright 1997 by J. Kevin Wolfe.  Author gives web publishing permission for free public viewing.  All rights reserved.  One time print rights available by agreement.  Author also gives permission to publish email address for reader comments. 

J. Kevin Wolfe
PO Box 54172
Cincinnati OH 45254

Bio: 

I write and talk too much.  I write and sidekick for the nationally syndicated Weekly Rear View Radio Show.  I co-host the regionally syndicated "Everybody's Cooking" on public radio.  My fourth cookbook is in the works.  I just completed editing and retranslating (with the author) the war diary of a 12-year-old Bosnian poet (published in two languages in Europe and being typeset for US publication.) 

When I grow up wanna to be a poet; a journalist for the soul.

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