Laurie Kuntz


Wishes for English 101 Students

                                                                                After Lucille Clifton's poem, "Wishes For Sons"


I wish them blank stares, thirty-five at a time,
I wish them the shuffle of bored feet,
fragments, run-ons, and the inconsistencies
of verbs looking for agreement.

I wish them doodles and dropped eyelids,
then the dream of standing naked
in a filled to capacity auditorium,
their lecture notes containing the wisdom of a fig leaf.

I wish them red-ink stains on fingertips,
folders of ungraded papers on Friday night,
later, lost folders of graded papers on Monday morning.

And when they deem themselves ready to graduate,
I wish them the course that they forgot to take.
 


Last Will 
                                                      after Richard Siken
 
We had a fight, and I forgot almost everything. My voice was shrill. I could not whisper. I slept
and upon waking  made a list of everything I hate about you. Entries in the dictionary of spite:
thunder, marrow, grub, —​ nothing like butterscotch, gossamer, mallow. I understand anger, but
struggle with forgiveness. Telling is easier than showing.   
Hatred decorates vacant rooms: 
                                            Throb, red, thorns — ambushed while hiding in the rose bushes.
 


Bob Dylan and His Cufflinks
                      On the musings of Diamonds and Rust by Joan Baez

He was gifted diamond
cufflinks from a lover,
who years later
sings a ghostly recall 
of that night, that gift.

Who would ever conjure Dylan
in a button down, pinstripe collared shirt, 
sleeves not rolled, but intact
and in need of gem studded links.

Perhaps, he was dressed for the day
of funds and finances  and bargaining 
his voice to crowds who demanded
unwashed work shirts and shredded jeans.

How could we know any legend 
the gruff voice, the one who would never 
ask for cufflinks, but when offered, finds use 
in all that needs to be clipped securely 
onto the arms of what one carries.
 


Musings on Mourning
                             Inspired by Sean Landers painting Fart
 
Is this too pink?
 
You don't have to wait a year for the unveiling.
You just have to wait until the ground is not frozen,
as mourning has no geography,
and who among us will journey on icy soil?
 
I just want to lie in the sun.
 
Sometimes it's easier to love someone when they are dead.
What's the big deal if I don’t know where north is?
When you said sorry did you mean savvy?
Your kind expression of sympathy is acknowledged.
 
Global trading is up;
China is the leader.
 
The sprinklers are on a timer,
as are my tears,
the color of winter.
 
Have you lost your sense of humor or direction?
All I have to do to prepare for death.
Is this too black?
Everything depends on your bedside manner.
 
Today, I can only eat the dark.
Keep me in the loop.
This is not a joke,
just a redundancy of heart.
 
What time is my appointment?
We are always regretting some thing.
 
Everyday I find a new poet.
Haiku is both singular and plural,
and how's the weather?


 
R.I.P. 

Why waste space and soil?
I want to be cremated,
so few visit me in living, 
who will visit in death?

I would rather weeds crawl 
on stone than words in an epitaph,
but if I had a gravesite,
I would want it to say 
Rest in Poetry.

For only in poetry is there rest 
from madness, which is funneled 
into tight stanzas that often compare 
lives to flowers, for flowers against stone
seem to thrive on a hard, rough surface
and are never angry.
 

Laurie Kuntz is an award-winning poet and film producer. She has published two poetry collections (The Moon Over My Mother’s House, Finishing Line Press and Somewhere in the Telling, Mellen Press), and three chapbooks (Talking Me Off The Roof, Kelsay Books, Simple Gestures, Texas Review Press, and Women at the Onsen, Blue Light Press). Her poetry has been nominated for three Pushcart Prizes and one Best of the Net. Her chapbook, Simple Gestures, won the Texas Review Poetry Chapbook Contest, and Women at the Onsen won the Blue Light Press Chapbook Contest. Happily retired, she lives in an endless summer state of mind. Visit her at:
https://lauriekuntz.myportfolio.com/home-1

 
 

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