Calamity Jain

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Calamity Jain

by

Michael H. Nguyen

 

Jaindoh raised me

                           afar

dublin  

ireland’s shores    

            not far from what

            I’d imagine to be          

some seedy bar

 

but far in her corner

she’d Squeek

            stories from her sax

 

Red days          for       

an invisible octopus

whose many hands were barred

behind bars

                       

so she lived for two

            rainy days spent with gypsies

            hungarians        whose words

were consistently beyond

comprehension

 

as she cycled   

            I never knew        where

with

a red pitchfork tied to the handlebar

            her bike would prod at anyone

                                                anyone who’d dare

                                                bog down her way

                                                                         her life

 

I’d always admire

from afar

 

and some days

just for me

            she’d pause

                        to write me letters

 

I’d ask

                        she’d speak

 

            my nightly wandering

had meaning                 direction

even in the california night

where in this city of debris

            my only guide were her words

                        or the incandescent streetlights

                        that stole the stars from the sky

&nb

sp;

so from my quiet room

I’d paint the sky starless            Blue

                                                blue with vibrant hues

                                                stare at the moon

                                    and see Jain

 

her bike seat bent from a bad bolt

            made her sit like somedownontheirluck chopper

            as she slid between boarders

fly downhill and overtake lorries

cause they’re pussies                she’d say

 

as she passed by

            danube where              

                        johannes

                        favored irish whiskey

                        ferried her

            into vienna

and in galleries she’d sit

scribbling sketches

with klimt and schiele

 

but I

I stayed by the riverside my entire life

inside art museums

                           I waited         often alone

                           watching Buddy sleep

            until

            thirteen years had gone by

 

and Jain

thousands of miles away

            always remained quietly by my side

            brushed my hair            patted my head

and said

            little brother      it’s okay

            the hunt never truly ends

so

just take your time

 

but

is fearr liom tú

gan do chuid éadaigh ort

 

xoxoxox

Squeek

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**the long and short

    of it is I’d far rather see you nude

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