THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW

Night pulled new hostages down for the dream world, a dozen at a time.

***

Time became a main character in the play, a drama—not a comedy. Well, a tragedy if honesty should factor in, but Time would really tell.

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The borders, as usual, were questionable. Everyone was trying to get out of town, see themselves from somewhere else.

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It’s okay to be lost on one-way streets, working in the dark, hazed with cloud, filling out paperwork with your name, so you can belong.

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Once you stop bleeding, you shall be wiser.

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Once on a high floor of the skyscraper, your image will multiply.

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You now live on Choice Street in the city of Renewal in a state of Gentle Chaos and work for the Department of Speculation.

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I know you are wondering about all this.

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When I pick up the book in the recurring dream, it is always empty. At first, this saddens me. I was looking for the chapter BELIEF. Then I find a pen.

***

Your father’s favorite flannel jacket doesn’t smell like him any longer, but then you realize your father had no scent.

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I was a sheet of glass in the wind of their voices.

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So many could not fathom the expansive field of the poem.

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Not everyone needs language in the same way.

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You look confused by the quarantine; the mask accentuates the disorientation in your eyes.

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When things go boring, you are known to invent and count angels.

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The radio host spoke of a man whose ghost significant other of two years left to cheat on him; an actual ghost ghosted him.

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Your mother always warned you about the opposite sex. 

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Sometimes the days cartwheeled; other days, they somersaulted slowly.

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All those hours of daylight and nowhere certain to go.

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You must have patience to deseed strawberries.

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The prize was given for the best attitude amidst the wreckage, in the wake of continuing wars and protests absent from multimedia screens.

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The father told the son he was burning in a bright direction toward God.

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The leader led with a child’s vocabulary.

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We were afraid to take the ferry because of predicted hail to the islands to which we burned all the bridges. The last match in the book could take cities—with gasoline, of course.

***

The birthday was a reminder of everything left behind, year by year.

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When the baby was left at the train station, the conductor brought it home to a wife that had lost many and therefore, knit hats, sweaters, and blankets.

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There are no medications for happiness really.

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A picnic used to help settle the neighbors before the ATVs were taken into the jaws of a big crunch machine. Privacy has its cost.

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The world is, by necessity, random.

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We had prayers for an afterlife completely different from anything we could imagine.

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The children were restless again; all extracurricular activities were cancelled.

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The dirt in one’s hands and fingernails was now more than needed, but scratching a wasp sting could, therefore, cause infection. Wash your hands every hour.

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One wanted to share the lessons and take from others before a spiritual bankruptcy that precluded the movement of dance—just languor.

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The traffic thinned, which allowed as many parades as possible, replete with trombones and candy, but no one was watching.

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The baton twirlers wept into their pillows where they practiced kissing.

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The poem collected rain for dust, light for night, encouragement for the less than brave.

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The things to know didn’t know anything.

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We were all so changed.

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2 Responses to THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW

  1. Myke Todd says:

    Thirty-Eight Krysia-isms, one offs, wielded as weapons,
    well into the week. This set is different.
    It has a life of it’s own. It knows it’s limitations because
    it sets them, then defies them, and if pressed, denies.
    And the colors were missing today, probably given
    time off for very good behavior, and mixing with others.
    All in all, brilliant as always…

  2. Krysia Jopek says:

    Thank you, Myke, for this amazing comment that I so appreciate. It’s difficult to know if a poem “lands” for the reader–unlike in gymnastics when the landing is visible, a fact. So I appreciate knowing that this poem invited you into its world, its city of 38 streets, and kept your attention. I can’t thank you enough for the validation, this lovely comment. I feel seen, visible, human now.

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