Leigh Vandebogart
3 poems
**
Especially When Watched
The oceans and the seas are laughing,
because we know nothing and we
dance too much. Or maybe
the waves are laughing because
we don’t dance enough and things
are getting hard right now.
Look at all of the stranded foam,
crushed shells,
translucent jellyfish like imaginary cakes,
and look at all the sand! Oh my god,
don’t forget about the sand,
of course sand,
all of it listening to the laughter, laughter, but
not laughing, just
laying there, laying, listening
in the way only dead things can.
We walk and we do not know,
and we try hard not to dance,
or
we try very hard to dance well,
all the while with the booming
crashing
laughter of the water.
**
but it was too hot
so I dreamt
instead, stories of tree-houses and closeness.
building community after
early morning walks in the park,
not too humid out before we slipped back
into bed.
driving back from downtown,
there was a monster on the sidewalk
dark flowing hair and a grimacing mask,
he was waving his arms at passing cars and I thought,
this is not Halloween yet,
but hello.
alone now, working,
watching steam float off the top of tea into darkness,
the quiet thin line between autumn and winter fast
approaching, you can smell it in the air,
something like fear
something like
hello.
hello.
**
this is for you, and you, and you
You can feel the ocean
in the air this morning,
waves in every stupid raindrop,
and the garbagemen sound like seagulls
when they say hi.
Your voice is on my phone, so I listen
mostly out of curiosity,
not because I care
(don’t get the two confused).
It’s the start of a new week and I’m disappointed
again, already, thank you.
Everyone clicks away behind our eyeballs,
squinting to make sense;
no-one knows what we want.
But here –
listen, carefully, and watch the sidewalks.
Trip once and you’re done.
Bye-bye.
**
return to sawbuck 5.1
**
Leigh Vandebogart is a recent Brooklyn transplant, by way of Albany, NY. She is currently a special education teacher at a middle school in Queens, and just finished her first year teaching sixth grade. When she isn't in front of a class and wrangling twelve-year-olds, she pets and looks at her cats, writes poems, walks around Brooklyn, and drinks beverages of all sorts. She's had poems published in Chronogram Magazine; in Other: ______, an Albany poetry publication; and in a chapbook through FootHills Publishing entitled liquid starlight and nonsense (even though she prefers you ignore the chapbook’s existence entirely).
**
Especially When Watched
The oceans and the seas are laughing,
because we know nothing and we
dance too much. Or maybe
the waves are laughing because
we don’t dance enough and things
are getting hard right now.
Look at all of the stranded foam,
crushed shells,
translucent jellyfish like imaginary cakes,
and look at all the sand! Oh my god,
don’t forget about the sand,
of course sand,
all of it listening to the laughter, laughter, but
not laughing, just
laying there, laying, listening
in the way only dead things can.
We walk and we do not know,
and we try hard not to dance,
or
we try very hard to dance well,
all the while with the booming
crashing
laughter of the water.
**
but it was too hot
so I dreamt
instead, stories of tree-houses and closeness.
building community after
early morning walks in the park,
not too humid out before we slipped back
into bed.
driving back from downtown,
there was a monster on the sidewalk
dark flowing hair and a grimacing mask,
he was waving his arms at passing cars and I thought,
this is not Halloween yet,
but hello.
alone now, working,
watching steam float off the top of tea into darkness,
the quiet thin line between autumn and winter fast
approaching, you can smell it in the air,
something like fear
something like
hello.
hello.
**
this is for you, and you, and you
You can feel the ocean
in the air this morning,
waves in every stupid raindrop,
and the garbagemen sound like seagulls
when they say hi.
Your voice is on my phone, so I listen
mostly out of curiosity,
not because I care
(don’t get the two confused).
It’s the start of a new week and I’m disappointed
again, already, thank you.
Everyone clicks away behind our eyeballs,
squinting to make sense;
no-one knows what we want.
But here –
listen, carefully, and watch the sidewalks.
Trip once and you’re done.
Bye-bye.
**
return to sawbuck 5.1
**
Leigh Vandebogart is a recent Brooklyn transplant, by way of Albany, NY. She is currently a special education teacher at a middle school in Queens, and just finished her first year teaching sixth grade. When she isn't in front of a class and wrangling twelve-year-olds, she pets and looks at her cats, writes poems, walks around Brooklyn, and drinks beverages of all sorts. She's had poems published in Chronogram Magazine; in Other: ______, an Albany poetry publication; and in a chapbook through FootHills Publishing entitled liquid starlight and nonsense (even though she prefers you ignore the chapbook’s existence entirely).
Labels: 5.1, leigh vandebogart, spring 2011
