APOCALYPSE

by Joan Mazza

Image source: End of the world

This time it’s true, when all prophetic books
agree the date is Winter Solstice, 2012.
The Mayans knew; it’s in the Bible. Just look
at world weather. You can see for yourselves
the increase in earthquakes, floods, volcanoes.
Watch out for Planet X, the government knows
but won’t disclose.  Look in front of your nose:
magnetic poles shift, buildings fall like dominoes.

Earth’s rotation will switch direction, sun
rising west instead of the east. No gun
will save you. Tsunamis inundating
coastal cities. No time for one last fling.
Let all expect a magical ascent.
The End is now an annual event.


Joan Mazza has worked as a psychotherapist, writing coach, certified sex therapist, and medical microbiologist, has appeared on radio and TV as a dream specialist. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Perigee/Putnam). Her work has appeared in Kestrel, Stone’s Throw, Rattle, Writer's Digest, Playgirl, and Writer's Journal. She now writes poetry and does fabric art in rural central Virginia.

STEREOTYPE

by Joan Mazza

The unlikely faces of same-sex marriage. --PostPartisan, The Washington Post
Larry Duncan and Randy Shepherd (Meryl Schenker Photography)

Seated— two white haired, white guys
with long white beards down their chests,
their right hands raised to take an oath
or pledge. Each wears a flannel button-down

under a dark blue quilted jacket. Their USMC
camouflage baseball caps look new.
They could be lumberjacks or loggers buying
hunting or fishing licenses, might be taken

for brothers. A wooden cane leans against
one’s chest. Harley- Davidson logo peeks
from the other’s unbuttoned winter layers.

Good ‘ole boys who love their guns and brew.
In another era, each might have lived alone
in a remote cabin, called hermit, loner, scary.
Do they chop their own wood and have a still?

But this is the state of Washington at the end
of 2012. A black man has been re-elected
president, and these two men, ten years
together, finally get to marry.


Joan Mazza has worked as a psychotherapist, writing coach, certified sex therapist, and medical microbiologist, has appeared on radio and TV as a dream specialist. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Perigee/Putnam). Her work has appeared in Kestrel, Stone’s Throw, Rattle, Writer's Digest, Playgirl, and Writer's Journal. She now writes poetry and does fabric art in rural central Virginia.

CLEANING UP AFTER THE HURRICANE

by Joan Mazza

 

                           for those still suffering

Along the streets of New York, Long Island,

and Staten Island, mounds of debris at the curb

after Hurricane Sandy. Couches and bedding,

pillows and papers, broken dinnerware.

Soggy books already molding. Boats on lawns,

cars deluged. Homes washed away or burned.

Like after Andrew in Miami—

equal to thirty years worth of garbage,

truck after truck in a caravan to the landfill.

Years of clothing gone, some new, coats

knitted sweaters, handmade quilts, towels,

embroidered tablecloths. Trashed.

Some things can’t be replaced by insurance:

the stuffed dog I’ve had since I was three,

my notebooks with first drafts of poetry.

family portraits on the wall, these pie tins

handled by my mother, ladle my grandmother

brought back from Italy. Beloved junk.

 
Joan Mazza has worked as a psychotherapist, writing coach, certified sex therapist, and medical microbiologist, has appeared on radio and TV as a dream specialist. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Perigee/Putnam). Her work has appeared in Kestrel, Stone’s Throw, Rattle, Writer's Digest, Playgirl, and Writer's Journal. She now writes poetry and does fabric art in rural central Virginia.

AFTER THE ELECTION

by Joan Mazza

Watercolor by Suzanne Mays-Wentzell

The sun should be out, beaming cheer
in celebration of a win for equal rights
and a president who tells the truth,
but today is gray and dreary, forecast
for wind and rain, maybe snow.

I didn’t stay up all night like some, tired
of the angry words, too angry, too,
at those who vote against their interests
for a man who lied and lied. I went to bed,
resigned to cope with heat or cold,

no matter how the winds of voting blew.
I rose to learn the winners, and asked
again what shelters we might find
when I still worry about the safety
of our vegetables and drinks, the air

we breathe. Taught to pray for happy
outcomes, for wisdom in our leaders,
recovery from illness, grief, addiction,
I know no one’s listening to wishes
no matter how cold and dark life seems.

Through weak morning light, the ground
is littered with this year’s leaves. Signal
to go inward, grateful for this home, space
where darkness means silence, warmth,
and no one shouting what god wants from me.


Joan Mazza has worked as a psychotherapist, writing coach, certified sex therapist, and medical microbiologist, has appeared on radio and TV as a dream specialist. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Perigee/Putnam). Her work has appeared in Kestrel, Stone’s Throw, Rattle, Writer's Digest, Playgirl, and Writer's Journal. She now writes poetry and does fabric art in rural central Virginia.

THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA

by Joan Mazza

Release of Scouts' files reveals decades of abuse
Reports cover more than 1,200 suspected molesters from the 1960s through 1985, naming doctors, lawyers, politicians and police officers. --LA Times, October 19, 2012

You said those words like a holy incantation
as you listed your son’s merit badges: rock
climbing, hiking, wildlife management. Food plan
for the homeless made him an Eagle Scout,
would count on college applications.

No need for a lecture meant to warn. Nights,
your head easy on the pillow, confidence
in your children’s safety, skills on camping trips.
(Sissy boys couldn’t join the Scouts.)

Leaders would turn them into men, would never
show them porn. What they learned was silence,
keeping secrets, loyalty. Rocks they had to swallow,
could not digest. You say, “What? What?”

Your own father held the same surety in safety
when he enlisted you to be an altar boy. Do you tell
yourself you should have earned awards for restraint,
forgiveness, understanding while you plotted

murder? Perversion files. For decades, they knew.
How much each of you learn. Nothing you could
have dreamed. Teachers, priests, scout leaders,
coaches took their power in muscled arms

and ran with it. Again, you dive into your Southern
Comfort. Here’s your award: Step up like a man
and take a white chip.


Joan Mazza has worked as a psychotherapist, writing coach, certified sex therapist, and medical microbiologist, has appeared on radio and TV as a dream specialist. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Perigee/Putnam). Her work has appeared in Kestrel, Stone’s Throw, Rattle, Writer's Digest, Playgirl, and Writer's Journal. She now writes poetry and does fabric art in rural central Virginia.