SUNNYLYN THIBODEAUX

As Water Sounds

As Water SoundsM

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The Silent Spaces Of Utopia Parkway

I am stuck on valiance & images

that may find another life

those of cautious advances & withdrawals

trembling at infinity

the task of a lonely cosmopolitan

is an indulgence to keep in check

testing radio parts & cross indexes

the AM wept over nations & freeway slogans

crowded with hangers-on

the American value doesn’t glide gently

just need to borrow a little for a short while

an orchestra of high pitched strings

anything to sound out the fix

anything to note the whitely

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Light In My Country

the symmetry of light in my country

the symmetry of those passing through

MMMMMMMMlike a low trellis, unchanging among its dead

MMMMMMMMthese things of energy, all life

MMMMMMMMwith what water sounds as

MMMMMMMMin the village, down the hallways

some exist parallel

a dimension higher & transparent

though it’s been written

the shine is golden on the wall

like honeycomb dripping

MMMMMMMMare those your footsteps

MMMMMMMMfalling off the sound of approach

MMMMMMMMgreat heights, unknown reasons

MMMMMMMMin the numbers, of twos

the symmetry of light in my country finds itself

breaking canopies, shedding signals

of twos, of twos, of

are those your footsteps falling off

ringing tones, last night, ringing circles

passing through the hallway

parallel in the village

are those your footsteps dripping golden

on the wall, as water sounds

the silence of symmetry approaching

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The Year Forty-Four Started On A Wednesday for NOLA

I considered it nameless for so long

the light that sounds, the brassy call outs

of such humanistic concerns

complicated with present participles

How do we represent ourselves

when the arm of our insignia is missing

carry the notes to its source and then back again

on this side of glory, we stumble

in generated light fixes,

MMMMMMMMstudies sliding under weight

laminin bound in the throat,

MMMMMMMMtwo giant hands from above

By faith we have found our way

by promise learned the city’s anthem

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Take Me Back To Barataria Bay

These are destroyers

left to make decisions in dark rooms

on the other side of the bridge

Sixty-two sunsets on slicks

no fix for worldly esteem

When we were optimists we dreamed

of pelicans and bald cypress

building cabins out of rain

The whole system is out of tune

and the floor has bottomed out

They are the translators of doom

the keepers of methane clouds

transfixed on monetary value

but the gallons have been all wrong

the moon’ll never find its reflection in the dead

We stay up late waiting for retaliation

we stare out East watching the uprisings form

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Brinks & Lavender

MMMMMMMMMMMcliff & citadel

MMMMMMMMMMMpass sunward

I would’ve bantered

out of context over

unfinished encounters

with dukes passing

trains. It is morning

but the sun has yet to say hello

MMMMMMMMMMMsmeared black ink of

MMMMMMMMMMMcards dealt by the former

MMMMMMMMMMMstaring at the end note

MMMMMMMMMMMwondering what is

MMMMMMMMMMMreally happening, picking

MMMMMMMMMMMup splinters, walking

MMMMMMMMMMMthe kingdom reflected off the moon

MMMMMMMMMMMI am not permanent

MMMMMMMMMMMthere is a part asleep

MMMMMMMMMMMand the only thing keeping

MMMMMMMMMMMus dry are the refills

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Deep Water Horizon

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMIt’s been 58º

for days. I would need to take

a train to find a break of blue. Is

the same for the creatures of the Gulf

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMI’ve spent

lots of time thinking what to do

have no answers. press mute.

reflect on the pelican’s grief, short off the list

the fishermen’s empty nets

the service industry counting tips

the families still rebuilding

the watermarks still standing

frozen hours of the mess we’re in

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMThere is a jack

hammer outside my window. 2,000

miles away there is a junk shot, a top

kill, a CEO’s transfer. Will we ever

have a shrimp po-boy again? The baby

doesn’t even know it yet

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMToday, I won’t

get out of bed. A city vehicle is in

reverse. Some Mexicans are on

the neighbor’s roof, in my window

Por favor, señor, hay petróleo en el agua

and I am unsure what else to do

Sunnylyn Thibodeaux is best described as a “New Orleans poet stranded in San Francisco.” Her poems have been published in Big Bridge #11, Big Bell #4, The Blue Press Portfolio, Generacion, Nevada State Line, Morning Train, and Polis: Resistance. Small books include 20/20 Yielding (Blue Press, 2005), Hidden Driveways Ahead (forthcoming) and United Untied (Private Edition, 2008). Her first full length collection, Palm to Pine, is expected out later this year from Bootstrap Press. With Micah Ballard, she co-edits Auguste Press and Lew Gallery Editions.