THE BONES
OF
SUSAN
by River Huston
Copyright 1995 River Huston
Smashwords Edition
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THE BONES OF
SUSAN
Copyright 1995 River Huston
Temporary Press
Second
Edition 2005
Third Electronic Edition 2011
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Body
Count
Still
Grieving
Tenth
International Conference on AIDS
101
Ways to Die Without Doing It
Losing
a Daughter To HIV Disease
The
Whole Truth
Mighty
Smiling Jesus
Those
People
Living
With HIV
Karen
One
More Time
Condom
Holiday
Belly
Points
Marrow
Rape
Death
Is For The Dead
Susan
Dr
Thompson
Forever
Gone
Man
Orphan
Hole
Abortion
Crucifix
Angels
Life
Without a TV
Survivor
Shiva
Fiend
Armed
Robbery
Queen
Spring
3:06
AM
Saint
Jane
Caught
Cleansed
A
Lifelong Immersion In Pain
Halloween
Vinnie
Was A Sharpshooter
Solitaire
A
Real Cup Of Joe
Lubrication
Franny
Other
Incarnations
Amanda
at Five
Randy
1,000
Yards Of Shit
Fishbone
Skies
Softness
Toes
War
Criminal
Reunion
Undisclosed
Donald
Body Count or Another Drive-By Shooting
How many today?
The
phone poll says five and falling;
catching bullets on Main
Street,
downtown and out on the farm.
Lou wears a scarf
around his hairless skull
like warriors do
till it flies off
his head on a Sunday.
Lou rips tubes from arms and nose;
floats
like an angel past ceiling to (only) sky.
Wounds close. Lou
rises.
The guns have
silencers on them these days,
picking them off 1-2-3...
She says she loves
him,
you know... he'll save her
from Mother's not good
enough’s,
can't trust you enough’s
why aren't you me
enough’s.
In the darkness she
dances,
spreading her 15-year old thighs,
remembering
something about safety
from health class.
But this is love,
baby, love.
and the count goes up one.
In the Doctor office
Jeannie tired all the time:
rash like pain like fever like
whispers in Jeannie's ear
some dusty “Pleased to meet you”
Stone's misquote.
and it all gets real.
Death gnaws at Karen
tiny bites:
takes her son away, then her mother,
then her
eyesight.
But you never look too bad
that's what everyone
said
Nine a.m. Wednesday morning,
you slip away without
comment,
having given your voice already
to those who had
none.
John is riddled with
bullets
tubing the great ravine.
Keeps dragging his sorry ass
back for more
spinal tap bone marrow chemotherapy more.
“Living
is living” he says,
even if it doesn't seem like much to
civilians.
“Let go, baby”
they utter so lightly.
There's a devil
facsimile in virus form
clicking his hooves across my ballroom,
dancing over the bones of the dead.
my friends, the dead.
Therapist asks me
“How come you don't cry?”
I reach for the door
“I
am detached,” I say,
turn the doorknob,
let the door shut
behind me.
In my dreams I swim
in pure bloody rage
that never penetrates.
I can never
move toward safety.
There is a man on the shore with a net.
He’s
calling to me.
When I open my mouth to reply,
it fills with
red nothing comes out.
I stand on Madrid
street corners
blowing “Summertime” on my horn.
People
stop and listen to me.
Me with tears tattooing my cheeks.
I
know what love is.
True fucking love.
I want innocence.
The kind without memorial service, casket lining
bullet
holed, funeral marching parade.
Black on black ripped sleeve
sitting Shiva, burning pyre,
votive dripping waxy slave,
musky incense choking
hair and flesh.
I want a long, wet
kiss
like I see in movies.
Read about in novels.
One that
sends me to heaven
when I stop
I won't even know where I am
kinda kiss.
I want to be far
from smokestacks
where wood turns to earth
and bodies are
piling up.
Tonight I am safe
for an hour or so
as Paganini rhapsodizes.
Memories can't
come here for dinner,
memories drown in my béarnaise sauce and
asparagus.
Memories wilt in the heat of the sidewalk.
Memories
are shot down behind enemy lines
before they commence their
dreary serenade.
Tonight Memories can hang
with the tourist
trade, Nikons flashing.
Nothing shows on the negative
1. Death.
It's not so much
about rain
though it keeps pouring
or about death
just
before the end everything shines with beauty.
Like you face down in the rain were smiling
If I talk about the
details
like the passenger seat found in some junk yard
that
I can't ever remember installing
in my 1974 Ford Econoline van I
still feel fear
left alone with the smell of gasoline
embedding
its smoky scent into the folds
of my Salvation Army prom dress
Waiting for you to
come back
nursing the knot in my belly
with a warm Colt 45.
Thinking maybe you
won’t come back
finally in all your raging glory
eyes
turned up to the sky
rain dancing on your belly
it was true
you weren't coming back
2. Memory
I've been calling
your name lately
at grace before dinnertime
I thanked God for
the food and you
in my sleep wrapped in blankets
I can smell
the faint memories of gasoline
3. Character sketch
Part time liar often
a thief
maybe just of spirit
devout confidences
cruel but
private
wiry sensitive feral beliefs
nothing mundane menial
fatherless motherless
sharpened edges honed
on the
concrete streets
rusty motor parts
thirsty but not desperate
high always high
on dreams and visions
Siddhartha type
vision
big time dreams
like hot wire the planet
take it
for a ride type dreams
black hair Polynesian eyes
small in
stature
but you would never know it
without measuring
southern temper urbane wonder
and baby you could sing
4. Private time
We would sit in the
back of the van
holding hands in some far off place
like
Cleveland or St. Paul
in the dark the ever changing traffic
lights
keeping time in silence
staring into the night
stomach growling
5. Monday morning
We played the Staten
Island Ferry
drunk singing, “Take this job and shove it”
beer guzzling contests in between sets
while the world looked
on
embarrassed
maybe just bored
6. Ghost
You haunt me from
windowsills,
doorways, under the bed
what have you become
some Jungian apparition
spewing euphemisms, encouragement
channeling country and western songs
about angels and Elvis.
7. Oakland
Another rainy night
I played my sax on top
of the pool table
you reinvented
the Blues
crumbling alto howling
later at Smokey Joe's Rib
Joint
barbecue sauce in your beard
you told everyone
I
was the greatest
horn player in the world
I couldn't stand it
when you did that
but you knew I wanted to play
more than
anything
8. Near the end
You wake me up 4
a.m.
sit on my chest shake my shoulders
“Riv, play this
lick, come on I got to hear it.”
scotch fumes singe the
skin of my face
“Born to be Wild “ screams from the turntable
I play it man over and over
till my cheeks ach
and you
pass out.
9. Walking home from the Key foods on Fourth Street
Don, Don, Don
I
love you, love you, love you.”
10. Last time I saw you
Beautiful fingers
swollen sausages
broken picket fence type smile
never saw
you cry
your voice a ghost
Life’s a party Riv, Rock and
Roll.
11. Still Grieving
Wasn't at your
funeral
didn't cut out the article in the Times
wasn't till
Benny leaned over at Houston Street
and said he was sorry
that
I cried.
Tenth
International Conference On HIV/AIDS
Is
There a Predetermined Amount of Tears for one life?
I. Japan, first day.
Josh in a wheelchair
herpes zoster on his lungs
plus meningitis, and perticulosis
tossing chemical cocktail and applesauce
on convention floor.
II. Hotel Room
Hi,Hi,Hi.
sex
goddess of the Western Hemisphere
empties bag of tricks
late
night
in Japanland
watching the godzillalike, viruslike
monster from the deep
subtitled and lost on my 27 inch Sony.
III. Ugandan Woman In Native Print
I lost my Son, he
was three
I lost my husband, we were married nine years
I
lost my sister, than my other sister, than my last sister.
cursed
womb
lay fallow on dirt road
villagers chant
AIDS, AIDS,
AIDS.
IV. Pain quota
Pale girl clutching
photo
of emaciated man
she has cried her predetermined quota
of tears
white knuckles never bleed.