August

POEMOGRAPHY | 2023

Poems by R.M. Usatinsky

pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry

01AUG23 | INTELLECTUAL NOSTALGIA

We've only had but a brief correspondence,

sharing thoughts and ideas about this and

that, the way strangers communicate when

they're still uncertain just who the person on

the other side of the wire is; but like the start

of anything new, there is novelty and wonder,

the beauty of seeing a new landscape for the

first time or seeing freshly fallen snow outside

your window; there's a comfort to be found in

strangers, they're less judgemental, curious and

delighted to know things about you that you

hardly knew (or remembered you knew) about

yourself; and today, my new correspondent said

there was an "intellectual nostalgia" about me; so,

I thought about it for a moment, wondering what

it meant and if I should ask or simply relish in the

notion of what it could mean; the short message

concluded by the writer saying they thought they

should have been born a hundred years ago, to

which I replied I shared in that exact sentiment

02AUG23 | THE SEASON OF GRIEF

I fear the season of grief has only just begun,

though its origins can be traced to March 2020,

when we last spoke at the onset of the pandemic;

we had spent time together, you me and two of

your sisters, in Valencia, during Epiphany; it was

a good time as I remember; and then the decay

and loss of what had been more fragile than I

could ever have imagined; then your sister, in

emulating what she must have thought to be a

way to punish me, perhaps as you did, for what

exactly I have never quite understood; but it's

more than abandonment and the loss of trust,

I suppose it's the losses to come that have me

the most discomposed; aging parents at the

ends of their lives; friends who are eating or

smoking or living themselves to death and

who no longer possess the wherewithal to go

on fighting for their existence; it's the fallen

heroes and those who I have admired from afar;

it's all the loss that I can hardly bare to contemplate

03AUG23 | ME, AS OBSERVER

I wish, if for only a moment, you could see

yourself as I see you; hear you as I do, too

often, belittling and berating, disrespecting

and discombobulated; I know it's only one

vantage point, but it has been, afterall, my

vantage point for fifteen years and if for no

other reason than having spent all those years

with you, I feel qualified to make these blunt

observations; there was a time when I felt you

had simply become too overwhelmed with life

and its turns and travails, disappointments and

inevitably having to come to terms with all the

things you would never come to accomplish; and

the one thing, and perhaps the most poignant, is

that I feel you never really wanted this life, being

someone's partner, mother, daughter, sister, friend

or colleague; that, left to your druthers, you would

have easily chosen a solitary life, beholden to no

one, no place or thing, creating for yourself a life

of undisturbed exile and the serenity of paradise

04AUG23 | AUTO-MINDF*CK

I keep telling myself I was born to do this,

this one, simple thing; and if you look at it

plainly, simply, taking it at face value for

what it's worth, it really shouldn't tip the

scales or seem like such an overly massive

undertaking; I mean, it's just talking and

singing, right? and I've been doing both of

those things for most of the sixty years I've

been alive; okay, so I'd be doing the talking

and singing in front of an audience of real

people, people who will be expected to cry

and laugh and to react accordingly to what

is going on––being "performed" in front of

them––that's what we're talking about here;

but there's this thing I do––that I've always

done––I auto-mindf*ck myself to the point

of paralyzation, to the point where merely

visualizing the thing satisfies me enough

to not actually having to do the thing; and

that's exactly where things stand right now

05AUG23 | THE TINY WHITE PILL

The tiny white pill I swallow every morning

is doing what it was prescribed to do, what the

doctor told me it would it do, lower my blood

pressure; and it has and does that very thing;

but that tiny white pill has also turned me into

a zombie, exhausted and numb, misty-minded

and fatigued to the point that I dozed off on the

bus this morning on the way to shul and dozed

off this morning in shul and again on the way

home from shul; and with the lethargy comes

my lack of desire for walking, for taking my

daily strolls along the water looking for that

first boat of the day to photograph; and as the

desire to walk dwindles, my craving for sweets

and comfort food surges as does my weight and

anxiety; so, I spend more time in bed than I'd

like to, hoping that when I rise, the angst will

have waned and I will be given another chance

to reset and start the day anew; but this miserable

cycle of malaise is a hard one to break free from

06AUG23 | THE SKIN CRIES

I think I would prefer to remember you as a little boy

when you were lovely and loving and as sweet as any

little boy could be; but time has a way of turning what

was once sweet into sour and loving into scornful and

indifferent; you were so thoughtful and extraordinarily

well-mannered, a real little gentleman, with your easy-

going way and delightful temperament; always happy

and ever so fascinated by the wonders of life; you were

musical and gifted with a unique talent; and while you

chose to employ that talent in a way I will never come

to understand, I respected you for following the beat of

your own drum; but what I will never respect is the way

in which you desecrated your body with an assortment of

grotesque marks, cheap, colorless and pitiable tattoos you

have chosen to permanently stain your once beautiful, soft

and supple skin with; scribblings that will remain a part of

you for the rest of your life; and perhaps these are merely a

way of expressing your individuality, but I know you better

than you'll ever realize and know these abhorrent marks are

all but defiance, rebellion and your crying out for attention

07AUG23 | IRREPARABLE HARM

The damage is done;

our children have been

raised in a home—in a

family—where so little

affection and outwardly

visible expressions of

love have existed that it

would take nothing less

than a miracle to reverse

the irreparable harm that

has been inflicted upon

them, on all of us; and it

is your callous society's

culture and their cold,

unrefined and apathetic

nature that has left us

numb, paralyzed and no

longer to feel anything but

the rain that drips through

small cracks in the ceiling

08AUG23 | DEAD CALLS

I keep getting these calls,

dead calls, on my cell phone,

from No Caller ID numbers;

and while I don't recognize the

language being spoken by the

faint, muffled woman's voice

on the other end of the call, the

voice, in it's throaty, dry Eastern

European accent does sound a bit

familiar; and while I'd never heard

my bubbe Razel's voice, I imagine

that's what it might have sounded

like; and these calls sound like they

come from the great beyond, there is

something otherworldly about them,

something unsettling and foreboding;

and even if these calls are simply wrong

numbers or crossed lines as the callers

keep talking incessantly, they do serve to

remind me that I am being looked after

09AUG23 | MONTE OLIVETE

I have such crystalline recollections

of our first apartment in Valencia, in

the Monte Olivete neighborhood in

front of the Fallas museum and the

vast expanse of bulldozered land that

in many month's time would become

the highly revered City of Arts and

Sciences situated in the dry bed of the

River Turia; I remember the first time

I walked into the flat; you had moved

in a month or so before while I closed

the chapter on the five years we spent

in Chicago; I was impressed by the size

of the place, four bedrooms, two full

baths, a formal dining room and eat-in

kitchen; the marble floors and Sr. Talens,

our genteel landlord and the couple next door,

Amparo and Jordi and their boy Adrian María;

the dogs and the park, my brother's first and

only visit and the death of Lady Diana Spencer

10AUG23 | ON AGING

I was talking to my 80-year-old mother

the other day, complaining about this

and that, how I wasn't adjusting well to

having recently turned sixty; she said,

what so many people have told me over

and over again, that age is just a number;

no it isn't, I quickly barked; actually, I

continued, sixty is the new fifty-nine!

she laughed at that quip suggesting I

should have it printed on t-shirts and

mugs; I just might, I replied; but I fully

understood where she was coming from,

age, it can be said, is all in the mind, you're

as old as you feel...and that's the point I was

trying in vain to make to my mother, I'm sixty,

but there are days I feel seventy...or eighty!

last night it was my left foot, I all but hobbled

home at midnight from the tram stop; my knees

ache walking down stairs and my memory comes

and goes as often as the Dutch rain; woe is me

11AUG23 | HIGH DEFINITION

The minute details of last night’s dream

were so very clear, like a high definition

photograph; I was stood at a small metal

sink, the basin filled with glassware and

cutlery, the final remnants of quite a large

dinner party we’d had; I was scraping dried

fondue cheese that somehow found its way

into a tall drinking glass; after minutes of

scraping incessantly with my finger nail, an

old man, perhaps my great-grandfather, put

his finger into the glass rubbing it in a feeble

attempt to loosen the hard bits of cheese; then, I

noticed Virginia’s parents were there saying how

they were astonished that a large family like ours

could live in a such a small flat; after dinner, two

of our slightly inebriated guests were seen walking

down Washtenaw and, just as they walked past the

Gallay's three-story, nearly stepped in a fresh and

steamy highly-stacked pile of dog excrement until

I caught sight of it and shouted a warning to them

12AUG23 | THE DINING ROOM TABLE

The dining room table is empty;

so is the bed and so are my dreams

and memories of what it was like

to be part of a family; Friday nights

sitting around the Shabbos dinner

table on Maplewood, we'd wait until

zayde came home from shul and grampa

from his busy day selling women's shoes

on Michigan Avenue; the two end chairs

from that dining room set are still with me,

in the home I share with strangers in a place

where I am a stranger, still, always; so, I eat

alone and sleep alone in a lonely house filled

with enough discarded things and remnants of

things bought or acquired where no memories

are made that are of any great significance; and

I can't remember the last time I had all my children

sitting around a dinner table, but it would have been

the last time, the final time; and those days are long

gone, gone to forever and they will never come again

13AUG23 | SECRET ADMIRER

At first I thought it was joke or

a fluke or misunderstanding; but

then notes and text messages came,

little trinkets left for me at work; tiny

rubber animals––a dolphin, a wolf,

a penguin and a leopard––two glass

marbles and some chocolates from

De Graaff; but who? and why? and

no one remembers seeing anyone

coming into the shop leaving these

things on the counter (or were they

sworn to secrecy?); I have some

suspicions, but no real evidence; I'd

love to catch the culprit in the act, but

don't suppose I ever will; I've never

had a secret admirer, though I have

admired many from afar though often

too cowardly to follow through; but

whoever it may be, they have my full

attention, affection and deep fascination

14AUG23 | LETTING GO

I'm letting go

letting go of

the hurt and

all those who

cause the hurt

I deserve much

more than you

have failed to

give; I'm worthy

beyond anything

you have to offer;

and I'm also letting

go of those on the

fringe; the curiosity

seekers and those

who wait in the wings

to see me fail; but even

if I do, my failure is so

much more dignified

than any trivial success

you've ever had or will have

15AUG23 | MY SAD COMPANION

We've been together a good many years

travelled down long and dusty roads

side by side through thick and thin;

challenges, triumphs and heartbreaks;

it's too soon to see where the path ends

where the journey will lay claim to one

of us before the other succumbs; I suppose

one can never be sure of these transient things;

we've seen so much; blue skies (though not

the bluest), deep green lakes (but hardly the

greenest or deepest); and we've lived long

enough to say that we've had a good taste of it;

deep down, I know I'd be better off without you;

you, better off without me, but I guess we're stuck

with each other, at least for now; anyway, where

could I possibly go without you and how could

I ever get there alone? I would be lost without my

sad companion; left fending for myself, struggling

for my very survival to face whatever the universe

hurls at us; as is such, my sad companion is me

16AUG23 | NICE HEARING FROM YOU (FOR L.T.)

All I really know about you is what

you have let me see and what I have

envisioned in my fantasies and vivid

imagination; and it's easy to love you,

I mean, it's not every day that someone

comes along who expresses any genuine

interest in me, who cares enough to call

or spend hours traipsing around doing

commonplace things; and today, you've

surfaced anew; come out into the light

from whatever place you've been attending

to all of life's necessities and unpleasantries;

it was nice hearing from you, nice to be

thought of even when your own life is on

the brink of so many changes; I can hardly

wait to see you again, to spend a little time

getting reacquainted and talking about all the

plans we're making for our lives; as for me,

I am focussed and committed to finding out

what kind of friend I can be; and want to be

17AUG23 | BRAIN FOG

Some days are foggier than others;

this morning, for example, my mind

is in an absolute flutter, vacillating

between thoughts and worries while

not being able to take my eyes off a

perfectly spun spiderweb just outside

the window my desk sits in front of;

it's spun exquisitely round, the circles

meticulously spaced like grooves on

a vinyl record; and the tree across the

street, why does it sway so aggressively

while all the other trees around it remain

still; and whose voices are those inside

my head and should I be listening to

them more attentively; and I'm worried

about my medication and the dire effects

it produces while apparently doing good

in keeping my high blood pressure at bay;

and today, for seemingly no good reason,

my throat is sore, dry, raspy and inflamed

18AUG23 | OVER BEFORE YOU KNOW IT

It'll all be over before you know it

and you'll be left with the indelible

pain and guilt for the rest of your life;

not that I want that, but you will have

had it coming and we all must sleep in

the beds we make; and I wonder how it

will change your life and how you will

live out your years knowing the torment

you caused; and of course it saddens me

to think of all the failed relationships and

disappointments you will have and cause;

and they'll insist it wasn't your fault, that

you were merely reacting to circumstance;

but I know better, and so do you; you thought

you were being strong, acting bold and making

a statement, but none of those things were true;

all you did was abandon your champion, the one

person who treated you with more kindness and

love than anyone; but that was part of your fault,

not recognizing the truth, succumbing only to scorn

19AUG23 | DROWNING

They say drowning doesn't

always look like drowning;

it's rarely flailing and bobbing,

gulping and gasping; it's a quiet

subtle and impassive death, water

infiltrates the body becoming the

breath of the afterlife, silent and

unwavering, liquid, inconspicuous;

the two of us are drowning, have

been for how many months, now?

and you sit ever so idly by the shore,

the ring-shaped life preserver at an

arm's-length but you refuse to throw

us the lifeline; refuse to intervene in

the drowning; observing as we sink

deeper and deeper into the silence;

how could you let this happen? how

could you be so cold-hearted as to

watch as we drown right before your

eyes; not even a prayer for dying souls

20AUG23 | BREAK-IN

Just when I thought my dreams

couldn't possibly get any more

realistic I had this frightening

one a few hours ago that took

place at the home I lived in as

a teenager on North Washtenaw,

the Litin's building, where many

of my dreams have taken place

over the years; this one, a most

disturbing episode, found me

asleep in the back bedroom of

the apartment, in the middle of

a dream; I was suddenly woken

up by what sounded like banging

at the back door; still drowsy from

sleep, I walked into the dark of the

kitchen and noticed the door ajar;

thinking the wind had blown it open,

I began pushing it closed when I

realized someone was pushing back

21AUG23 | LIST OF MALADIES FOR TODAY'S DOCTOR VISIT

Dry hacking cough

Sore scratchy throat

Anxiety, dread, overwhelm

Hypersensitivity to everything/crying

Fatigue/lethargy

Over-eating/binging

Brain fog/forgetfulness

Drooling

Minor gastric issues

Increased urination

Middle ear discharge/crusty/itchy

Tingling/numbness right big toe

Incessant belly fat

Finger pain/stiff joints

Knee discomfort (especially walking down stairs)

Varicose veins on legs

Spots on right hand

Lower lip seems off-center

Skin tags on neck

General malaise

22AUG23 | LETTER TO MURIEL

Dear Muriel,

I suppose you could say

I'm less than content with

your diagnosis of summer flu;

but, I suppose I've come to know

how things stand between us; after

all, ours has been one of the longest

relationships I've had, so, suffice to say,

I can safely proclaim that I know you pretty

well by now although I'm never really certain

whose side you're on; you rushed through my

list of maladies insisting on taking one thing at

a time; you listened to my lungs (they seem clear);

you listened to my heart (at my insistence); you took

me off Enalapril (it had obviously turned me into a

zombie despite doing what it was supposed to do); and

you gave me a new appointment in two weeks to see how

my summer flu has evolved; but every time we meet, I leave

with the sensation that you're merely putting me through the

the motions, that I'm really nothing more than ticks on a clock

23AUG23 | TSVETELINA'S TOUCH

I wasn't meant to pass by your door,

but the bus I was riding home on

suffered a malfunction and rather

than waiting for the replacement

I simply decided to walk the rest of

the way from Voorburg Station with

the intention of picking up some fresh

berries along the way; I've passed the

place dozens of times, but today, for some

strange reason, I decided to pop my head

in and enquire; you were alone, sat at the

back on a couch; you came over, opened

the door and after a short chat invited me

in; I ran through my list of complaints and

you offered a ten-minute trial, to make sure

I was comfortable and that you would indeed

be able to provide the exact thing I was after;

after thirty minutes, lathered in oil and ever so

powerfully enveloped by your touch, I realized

the thing I have been longing for all these years

24AUG23 | IN WHISPERS

I only talk to you in whispers

spoken softly under my breath;

I say hello and goodbye and

wish you godspeed; I whisper

goodnight from outside your

room and pray for you after

reciting the Amidah at shul;

and I whisper your name as

I walk along the Vliet, asking

the trees if they've seen you

lately and if they thought you

were doing well; I whisper a lot

these days, my voice is weak

and often at a loss for things to

say; I whisper to myself with the

hope that a little voice from within

will hear me and answer my call;

and I whisper for fear of being

heard, for being misunderstood

in the deafening silence of truth

25AUG23 | NEW SKIN

It's happened; I think I've

finally finished shedding

the old skin; the lethargy

and malaise seem to be on

the wane; my gait is spry,

I can breathe deeply again

and the intense melancholia

now helps rather than hinders;

and while I haven't checked my

blood pressure since ditching the

pill, I think I'd prefer a stroke or

heart attack instead of the abyss

the meds left me sinking in; I'm

cautiously productive, even doing

some multitasking and making new

plans with new people about a new

future that up until now I mostly

wasn't even able to ponder; my new

skin; it feels sleek, refined, cool and

ever so pleasantly accommodating

26AUG23 | A BROOK IN THE STORM (FOR B.B.)

There aren't many people I've known

over the course of my life who I think

about as often as you; funnier still, is

how we've only met a handful of times;

the last time we were together was on

a date of sorts when at the end of the

evening (details of which have escaped

me at this moment) we sat in my car in

some industrial complex parking lot as

a raging thunderstorm entertained us as

we talked endlessly about this that and

the other and my feelings about being

out on a date with you while I was dating

(albeit unofficially and unceremoniously)

your best friend; at one point there was

silence as we contemplated lightning bolts

and thunderclaps (me, hoping buoyantly

that I'd score); at one point you turned

to me and took my hand in yours saying

you knew deep down in your heart that

someday we'd be lovers; we never were,

but I've never been able to gaze upon a

thunderstorm the same way since then and

every time the skies darken and nature's

spectacle takes to the stage, I think of you

and of those more innocent times long ago

when hearts were hardly as fragile as they

were to become; and we're all married now

(happily or otherwise), but the brook in the

storm beautifully reflects the lightning while

she revels in the joy of the raindrops dancing

in her overflowing serenity, filling her to the

edge of the embankment with every emotion

ever to have fallen from the heavens; you are

and will remain embedded in the depths of

my heart with reverence and endless wonder

27AUG23 | HOWARD & LUCY

I can't believe thirteen years have

come and gone; it really does feel

like it was only yesterday since I

took that short flight over to attend

your wedding; you left a goody bag

for me in my hotel room filled with

sweets and treats and I made my

way to the venue, a palace built

in the English countryside in the

eighth century by a Saxon king;

to this day, your wedding is the

most beautiful I have ever had

the privilege of attending (well,

perhaps a close second to my

wedding on Wisconsin's Green

Lake in 1995); and everything

was perfect that day, the weather,

the ceremony and the magnificent

black-tie gala, only marred by the

fumes from my patent leather shoes

28AUG23 | MONDAY VOID

Not much happens in this country

on Mondays; they might as well

just cancel it or add it on to the

weekend or perhaps eliminate it

from the week altogether, leaving

six days to muck about and get the

bare minimum done between bites

of sad bread and cheese sandwiches

and brownshoe walks to the petrol

station for coffee and energy bars

during lunch breaks; everything is

lackluster on Mondays; the village

shops open at noon with groggy

employees you better not engage

too deeply with as they'll either

ignore you or kill you with contempt;

even the clouds and trees are unmoving,

they idly await the coming rainstorms to

perk things up a tad and send the natives

into a tizzy, albeit not in the Monday void

29AUG23 | MY PECTORALS

Seems I've gone and gotten my

pectorals in a bunch; they're a

bit taut and, in all likelihood,

somewhat abused as I use these

particular muscles for a variety

of daily activities such as cutting

hair, using my computer during

long writing sessions and for

holding up my iPhone while I

scroll mindlessly through the

interwebs as I lie (mindlessly)

in my bed taking respite from

the aforementioned activities;

so, this morning, my pectorals

were poked, prodded, pressed

and pummeled and I was given

detailed tutelage on how to care

for these muscles in the privacy

and (dis)comfort of my own home

by thrusting forward in a doorway

30AUG23 | FOR JOEL

I read about your mother's passing

on your social media page; it was a

short, but very loving notice as only

you could pen; as I read your words,

I felt bad having not asked you about

your mother all these years; truth is, I

had assumed she passed away years ago

(your parents always seemed much older

than the other parents when I first met

you around 1975); and seeing the lovely

photo that accompanied your post, I was

suddenly flooded with emotions and

memories of days gone by; the Shabbos

afternoons playing board games on your

bedroom floor (your parents didn't allow

you to go out on Saturday afternoons); I

remember all those times I would see your

father driving down Mozart in that boxy

blue sedan (was it a Chevy Malibu or

Impala?); I never saw your parents again

after you moved to Los Angeles in seventh

grade; and while I saw you once in our teens

(my cousin took us to the Queen Mary, docked

in Long Beach harbor), it wasn't until some 40

years later when we were reunited for a day in

Amsterdam where, accompanied by your wife,

we took a canal boat cruise, paid a visit to the

old Portuguese synagogue and had lunch at one

of the city's few remaining kosher eateries; you

may have spoken of your mother then, but I

was so overcome with emotion that day, I can

barely remember anything that we talked about;

you played a vital, though all too brief, part of

of my childhood; you were my first best friend

and the best assistant any young magician could

hope for; may your mother's memory be a blessing

31AUG23 | CUTTING CHET BAKER

While I've only been a barber

for a mere handful of years; it

crosses my mind from time to

time that it would have been

cool to cut the hair of this or

that celebrity or of a historical

person of international renown;

I saw a photo of Chet Baker just

a few minutes ago, a photo taken

by Richard Avedon in January 1986,

just two years before Baker's death

in Amsterdam; he hadn't had a haircut

or even combed his hair to any great

extent for the shoot and I as looked

closely at the photo, examining ever

so carefully the wispy strands of hair

dangling over his ears, I thought how

amazing it would have been to have

him in my chair, to hear a story or

two about his sad and amazing life