POEMOGRAPHY | 2025
Poems by R.M. Usatinsky
pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry
FEBRUARY
01FEB25 | THE WINTER SKY
I was lying on the bed where I used
to sleep, the same bed on which my
two youngest daughters were born
(but not conceived); I was there
keeping my youngest company as
she was running a fever and not
feeling so well; lying on my back
looking out into the winter sky as
I had done for so many years, the
sky dark and clear, so many stars
visible, stars who surely no longer
remember my gazing upon them;
but I remember them and miss them
as dearly as I miss so much of the
life I had when the winter sky was
clear and my heart was untroubled
02FEB25 | HITTING THE SKIDS
I’ve seen better times, times when I
felt good, or at least felt better than
I do now; seems there are a few key
moments when aging hits hardest and
there’s no doubt I’m caught up in the
middle of one of those; a deep, swift
decline of both my physical and mental
health; I shuffle and drool and talk to
myself; my blood pressure is too high
but I’m too low, having shrunk a full
two centimeters; I’m often cold and I
sleep a lot; I have aches and pains and
doldrums and anxiety; I constantly worry
that a plane will crash into our house or
someone will bludgeon me to death as I sit
on the tram; so here I am hitting the skids
03FEB25 | BORDERLINE
I think that was song made famous
by Madonna in the 1980s; in fact,
there were a slew of songs with the
name Borderline recorded in the 80s
and 90s by artists such as Cheap Trick,
Joni Mitchell and the late Chris de Burgh
(though none as famous as Madonna’s);
but the borderline that’s been on my mind
lately is a mental health condition that affects
emotions, relationships, and self-image, the
widely common Borderline Personality Disorder,
which I myself was diagnosed as having about
six or seven years ago; while I do possess some
of the traits of someone who suffers from BPD,
I wonder if it has been a key factor in how many
of my own interpersonal relationships have failed
04FEB25 | EVIL EYE
It’s happened a few times over the
past couple of years, our paths cross
in the street, usually close to home;
and yesterday as I had to leave early
for work I thought there was a chance
I might see her walking home from the
tram stop on her way home from school;
our eyes met as we both rounded the corner
on the Haagweg; then, low and behold, her
icy cold stare penetrating deep into my soul,
leaving me numb and out of sorts; now, hours
later as I lie in bed surrounded by the cold of
five a.m., I feel dread and despair as my chest
feels heavy and tight wondering if the evil eye
has even further chiseled away at my heart or
merely served as a warning of what’s to come
05FEB25 | THE SAPLINGS
The saplings have arrived—two score
or more—to replace the forty-two trees
that were culled last year to facilitate
the renewal of our street; and what a
fine day to welcome these lovely young
trees, the crisp winter air parted the clouds
so the sun could shine through and sparkle
upon the wispy branches who will one day
grow full and bear leaves and create shady
parcels of earth; that will support birds and
insects who find their way to its branches to
feed, to mate and to take rest; and these small
saplings will bear witness to generations to
come, some who will notice and some who
will take their beauty and splendor for granted;
but for now, I welcome them gladly into my life
06FEB25 | THE BEACHGOER
I’m not what you’d exactly call a
beachgoer, but I’ve been craving
the beach lately; or maybe what I’m
actually craving is the sun; anyway,
I’d love to be on a beach right now
with the hot sun beating down on me,
beads of sweat forming on my brow
and the smell of surf and sand wafting
all around me; but this whim, this minor
fantasy would only last a couple of days,
three at best, as my beachgoing doesn’t
require any more time than that; and as
I lay there I softly say to myself out loud,
such a mechaya, just like my zayde used to
say as he sat in his green and white webbed
lawn chair all those year ago on Maplewood
07FEB25 | I DON’T SHAKE HANDS WITH STRANGERS
I’ve never been into shaking hands,
there’s something so antiquated, so
primal about extending one’s hand
in greeting; it’s not like I have to
demonstrate that I’m not carrying a
weapon or present a threat; and I don’t
find it cordial, but a mostly unhygienic
inconvenience; that’s not to say I never
shake hands, I do indeed shake my fair
share them, though they are mostly close
friends and longtime customers; I do not,
however, shake hands with those I do not
know, strangers who are so quick to thrust
a grubby paw towards me; and it seems I
have a particular aversion to shaking hands
with medical professionals and civil servants
08FEB25 | SOMETHING I’M NOT
Why would I go out of my way, go
through all that trouble and fuss to
be something I’m not, to be someone
who other people think I should be?
they say I’m too this or that—feeble,
lenient, a pushover—that I should
stand my ground, claim what’s mine
and not take any guff from anyone;
but I am who I am, always striving to
be as authentic as can be, which often
gets me into a bind, makes people think
they can take advantage of my gentile
manner, my compassion and goodwill;
sure, I have my passionate side and I do
get overly emotional at times and raise
my voice; which is off-putting to others
09FEB25 | EAR OF CORN
It was probably one of the most hurtful
moments I’ve suffered of late, though
there are so many it’s hard keeping count;
today when I woke up from my afternoon
nap, I noticed two of my daughters eating
ears of sweet corn slathered in butter; I
immediately walked over to the kitchen to
see if there was a warm yellow cob in the
oven waiting for me, but the Pyrex baking
dish was empty; thing is, everyone knows
how much I love a good ear of sweet corn
but no one thought to bring one home for me;
it may sound like a petty thing, it’s just an
ear of corn, but it really hurt, hurt so much
I actually shed a small pathetic tear, one no
bigger than a little yellow kernel of corn
10FEB25 | OUT OF HAND
You’ve let things get out of hand,
replaced the love that used to fill
our home (though there was never
really enough to begin with) with
things of only extrinsic value; too
many clothes that hang from every
possible place that a hanger can
hook onto; unnecessary sundries
that hardly serve the purposes they
purport—shampoos, creams, lotions,
serums and the like—whose fancy
labels, false promises and mephitic
fragrances capture the fancies of your
daughters who you allow to acquire
every useless this or that to satisfy the
childhood you dreamed of but never had
11FEB25 | THE GOOD MORNING MAN
It was a dreary winter’s morning, I was
walking back into the village to pick up
a loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread
and on my way home crossed paths with
a happy-go-lucky bald-headed feller who
looked at me and said good morning; that
in and of itself wasn’t so remarkable, not in
the Netherlands anyway (though typically
more observed in small towns), but this
jolly guy proceeded to give his morning
greeting to the next three people who walked
by; then, walking into the supermarket, he
called out a boisterous good morning to anyone
in earshot; it was nice observing how the others
reacted with smiles and returning the sentiment
and it certainly brightened my dismal morning
12FEB25 | THE VILLAGE HOUSE
I used to take long drives through the
North Shore suburbs, down the slinky
winding roads of Wilmette, Kenilworth,
Winnetka and Highland Park; I’d drive
through the villages with their old world
charm and quaint highstreets resembling
market towns one would find in the English
countryside; and the storefronts with their
cafés, green grocers, antique shops and stylish
boutiques would oftentimes have apartments
above them where I’d dream of living while
going to work every day as an animal control
officer for the village of Winnetka, a job I
actually applied for in the summer of 1981, a
few weeks after graduating from high school; I
never got the job or the apartment above a shop
13FEB25 | BELATED (For M.V.C.J.)
I’m guessing it’s the first time I forgot
your birthday in what, some thirty-four
years since that first one we shared when
you arrived in Chicago on the day of your
twenty-fourth birthday; it was an icy cold
winter’s evening when I drove a rented car to
O’Hare to pick you up (I never really thought
you’d take me seriously and actually come all
the way from Spain); we went straight to some
fancy restaurant for our first of what was to be
many celebratory meals over the next decade and
a half (and sorry again for complaining about your
cold soup); so, I forgot one, one of many I didn’t;
I hope it was a splendid day filled with love, cake
and cheery calls and messages from friends and
relatives; I’ve been forgetting a lot of things lately
14FEB25 | STUPID CUPID
I’ve told the story of how our romance began,
there in the river bed, enjoying a warm summer
afternoon with my children as Cupid watched
perched upon a tree branch; but it wasn’t us he
was watching, it was some young couple sat
there on the grass who Cupid was meant to
shoot his arrow at; but the poor sod must have
had a bit too much sangria at lunch and the
arrow meant for the two young lovers hit us
(right between the ears); weeks later I found
myself on a train heading north to Reus, where
things became what they became; a few months
later I packed up my Spanish life, bid farewell
to my children and flew off to live in Liverpool
where a new life began (before it quickly began
unravelling); stupid Cupid, what a mess you made
15FEB25 | MY BROTHER’S KEEPER
I guess you could call it a generational thing;
we were born nine years apart and by the time
I had graduated from high school and decided
to leave home, you were still that little kid who
looked up to me like a hero and must have been
crushed to see me go; and when I came home six
years later, you were the high school kid and I was
an adult (well, biologically speaking) and though
we tried to reconnect and stay close, we couldn’t
have been more different; and then she came into
my life, wedged between us, and five years later I
was off again to Spain and farther away then we’d
ever been; you came over that first year and that was
the beginning of the end; I was tired and worn down,
barely hanging on to my new life and you got caught
in the fray and things were never the same between us
16FEB25 | CONSUMPTION, WORK & ENTERTAINMENT
Let me be the first to admit I’ve become
somewhat of a couch potato—well, maybe
more than somewhat; I definitely spend far
too much sedentary time, working at my desk
and watching my one film a day (which has
replaced hours of lost time doom scrolling on
my phone); now that wouldn’t be such a problem
if I was getting out more and moving my aging
body, but that’s not the case; and I’m eating too
much despite the eggs I have for breakfast each day
that are supposed to keep me filled up; my stomach
protrudes like a woman about to go into labor and
that makes me simply miserable; but I do manage to
get out onto the balcony on those rare days when the
sun makes an appearance, and that makes me feel
better as do my naps and weekly chats with Abbott
17FEB25 | THE DUTCH SKY
My life is like the Dutch sky
dreary and forlorn; but I am
happy most of the time; like
when the clouds part and warm
rays of sun shine down thawing
the sadness; the icy frost that
covered the canal this morning
reminded me of the frozen layer
of glassy skin that would form on
the popsicles we made as kids from
Kool-Aid; and the pale blue of the
Dutch sky is serene, a backdrop for
birds and planes and the bare trees
whose branches patiently wait for
springtime buds to burst forth when
the chill subsides and life reawakens
18FEB25 | KILLER INSTINCT
I suppose we all have it, that killer instinct;
born from time immemorial, our natural way
of survival, kill or be killed, eat or be eaten;
and today is no different, we haven’t really
evolved all that much, we still possess those
primordial inclinations that lead us to shooting,
stabbing, strangling, suffocating, poisoning,
immolating, bludgeoning, and disarticulating
those we wish to eradicate from this life; but
I suppose the most interesting facet of our
savagery is that we also possess the power to
love, and love with such intensity that I often
think the brain cannot distinguish between the
two emotions, one that takes life and one that has
the unbridled power to make life; either way, we
keep on killing each other, and probably always will
19FEB25 | LEVERAGE
They think they have the upper hand
but they’re not really as clever as they
think they are, or think you think they
are; take the Syrian, for example, the
classic carpetbagger, the quintessential
opportunist trying to wield leverage in
a situation where he has a very clear
advantage and everything to gain but
still wants more because he feels he can
get it and feel he’s entitled to it and feels
he deserves it; but truth is, he’s just an old
hack with old-time ideas and very little real
knowledge of the world around him and even
less savvy in dealings of the simplest matters;
he hates his job though it’s given him his
livelihood and a shitty little house in Spain
20FEB25 | CONFLICT OF INTEREST
There’s a battle raging; a conflict of interest
between my teenage brain and old man’s body;
today’s diagnosis was a compressed nerve; Flip,
my boyish physiotherapist, gave me stretches to
do (that I won’t do) at home and said I should see
some improvements in a few weeks; that wasn’t
terribly relieving as I’ll have to find a way to get
used to the tingling and that most odd sensation
that feels like there is water streaming down my
left leg (and the numbness that freezes that leg
down to the knee); so my younger self is mostly at
loggerheads with my old man self and doesn’t hold
back when it comes to being unceremonious, laying
the blame about the extra weight, the lack of exercise,
the snacking, the sweets; and these conflicts may end
up being what does me in or help me create a new life
21FEB25 | INTIMIDATION
I’m fairly certain she isn’t aware of the
bitter and callous person she’s become;
and not just bitter and callous, but smug
and fake—a real haughty nag; I’ve tried
to dismiss it as a hormone imbalance or
menopause or just someone who is so
discontent with their lot in life they use
me as a scapegoat to lay all the blame for
their misery on; and I wonder who treated
her so badly or who she observed treating
someone else with so much contempt and
lack of sympathy that it rubbed off on her,
or that perhaps she sees it as an acquisition
of power or control over what she has not
any right to have power over or control of
22FEB25 | HOSPICE
He is finally coming to the end;
a long life lived well, loved by
so many, but no one loved him
as much as you did; and I won’t
even dare to suggest I know what
you must have gone through all
these years because I know it’s
unimaginable; and I know how
much you must hate us all for not
having been there or for having been
there and not being as supportive as
you would have liked; and now he’s
fading away, faster than he ever has;
but you still hold on to that ray of
hope thinking that maybe he’ll live
forever; your rock and loving father
23FEB25 | TIME ALONE
I’m finally at a point in my life
where I’m starting to appreciate
time alone; not that being alone
was ever undesirable, it mostly
came down to being anxious or
worried that I would experience
a health crisis or, god forbid, die
while alone with nobody by my
side to cradle and comfort me as
I passed from this world to the
afterlife; but now, as the ruckus
of my daughters getting ready to
go down south fills the house with
manic last-minute packing, primping
and panicking, I’m both relieved and
bereaved at the prospect of being alone
24FEB25 | PLATONICALLY SPEAKING
I’ve been watching a lot of movies these days,
making up for more than twenty-five years of
taking kids to see kids movies or staying home
to watch kids shows on T.V.; and now you
could say I’m making up for lost time, spending
a few hours a day taking in these wonderful films,
made with such love and conviction, talent and
endless imagination; and yes, a lot of tears are
shed and a few laughs are laughed, but for the
most part I am finding myself more enlightened,
more inspired and feeling more alive than I have
in a long time; I’ve taken away quite a lot from
these stories, but mostly I’ve seen how love can
take on so many different forms, that relationships
don’t require any sort of physical manifestation to
be whole, pure, authentic, and completely fulfilling
25FEB25 | MADE UP PEOPLE
I rarely forget a name and I’ve known a
lot of people in these sixty-one years; I’ve
known good people and bad, angels and
devils and all sorts of idiosyncratic esoteric
motherfuckers; I may forget their faces, but
never the names; but there have been a few
names—three to be exact—that have me
thinking I may have simply made them up
though I’m certain they are real people whose
paths I’ve crossed somewhere along the way:
Norman Porter Six, who I know had attended
college with me; Art Ribal, a portly Filipino with
a contagious laugh I worked with in a call center
during high school; and Vera Langdon, who came to
me in a dream in 2012 and who I swear dad told me
was a 1930s Hollywood starlet who took her own life
26FEB25 | PURGINGS
I discovered sometime towards the
end of my late grandmother’s life
that she may have purged her food
after meals; it made sense at the time
as I recalled hearing retching sounds
coming from the bathroom when she
was in there, but didn’t pay too much
attention to it; she was never a heavy
woman and I can’t imagine her of all
people having body image issues, so
I’m curious as to why these purgings
occurred; interestingly enough, I’ve
considered doing something similar as
I do have some body image issues, an
always-protruding belly that sticks out
over my otherwise normal-sized frame
27FEB25 | IF THE SHOE WAS ON THE OTHER FOOT
I would never have treated you with such
disdain and indifference and I would surely
never evict you from your children’s home
where their stability and security is certainly
more important than whatever issues their
parents are having; I would think that you
of all people—the master pretender—could
pull off a ruse to fool yourself into behaving
like a decent human being; you, with all your
resentment, pent up disenchantment and no
ability whatsoever to accept things as they
are should have made your peace with life
years ago, come to a middle ground where
everyone’s best interests are taken to heart;
if the shoe was on the other foot, I would
do things so much differently than you have
28FEB25 | DISEASE
I suppose we all suffer from some kind of
affliction, diseases of the body or mind or
of the general human condition; and while
everyone knows they are dying (life’s one
and only certainty), not everyone knows if
and what disease is lurking nearby within;
I’ve been reading a lot of news items lately
that talk of this person or that who recently
passed away from some cancer—usually a
stage-four lung cancer; and it’s more often
than not mentioned how the deceased never
smoked and lead a healthy lifestyle; or the
outrageously high number of glioblastomas
one hears about and how quickly the demise
came to be; all this disease, so many people
dying; so my question is, what’s with all that?