Two Poems

Mother Ghazal

At night I don’t look at the stars Sometimes pigeons smash into the stars I leave my keys in the door My mother brushes off the stars Because they’re fading she wants To love them her chin smudges the stars Never never leave my mother alone She’ll feed hamburgers to the stars She’ll run errands across the air What winter jackets will she offer the stars? What blouse will she stain on the wind? The dead curl up with the most luminous stars Mother kiss on a beat up blanket under the stars Karla Ghazal for Mike Young Stars are being made inside trailer homes by underprivileged kids who have been home- schooled for their whole life. When a star explodes a black hole appears, sucking at their homes. They cool newborn stars in a plastic pool. Sometimes they declothe to give themselves home made skull tattoos or sniff rubber cement. When the sky is bright their mothers come home in cocktail dresses, flip through the channels catch an hour or two of sleep, leave home. Karla uses the bathtub to wash socks while her sister cleans up around the home. By lunchtime a quasar inside their home.

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