POEMOGRAPHY | 2025
Poems by R.M. Usatinsky
pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry
DECEMBER
01DEC25 | THE VOICE ON THE PHONE
This was a frenetic dream,
more than most and there
wasn’t even pizza involved
in its procurement; it was a
family dream, mostly second
cousins—I thought I was in
Paris, but it seems I was in my
old childhood apartment on
Washtenaw; I sat down in a
small armchair in front of the
window, one of the chair legs
got caught on the corner of the
rug; the phone rang and I sat
down and answered it; it was
my grandmother; “Mary Lurie!”
I exclaimed; “is that you Mary?”
02DEC25 | THAT ONE PHOTO
It was taken years ago,
sometime in the winter
of 2017; it’s me with all
my children; we’re sitting
on the stairs beside the white
sofa I bought from that girl
with the big white dog (I loved
that couch and miss it dearly);
behind us, under the stairs, you
can see toys and stuffed animals
nicely arranged—like in a toy
store; everyone is smiling, content
to be together, my father’s pride is
beaming from my eyes; and that one
photo, from that one moment in time,
captured the happiest moment in my life
03DEC25 | BLUEBERRIES
There are some blueberries in the fridge,
a small box of them set atop of a tub of
Greek-style yoghurt; I mix these together
with some dark chocolate granola and a
bit of honey; but the blueberries have been
there now for two weeks or so, barley eaten
and as I’ve run out of granola, I can’t seem
to be bothered to use them (I am equally
unbothered to walk into the village for more
granola so I imagine the blueberries have gone
off by now but I’m not bothered to look as to
save myself from the regret of having wasted
money on food that I have to throw away; but
I suppose all of that points the bigger problem,
that I just can’t find the wherewithal to get out
out of the house and buy some fresh blueberries
04DEC25 | WAITING FOR THE REAL LIFE
I read somewhere that walking away
from someone who diminishes you
isn't weakness—it's the beginning of
your real life; I understand that now,
maybe better than I’ve ever understood
anything; you see, I’ve lived a thousand
lives—good lives (though I haven’t been
to nearly as many weddings as I would
have liked); but looking back on all of
those well-lived lives, I realize they were
merely lived as fantasies, inventions of
a vivid imagination, a man trying to be
something, to be things he was never
meant to be; perhaps it was fear that was
holding me back, or someone else’s lack
of understanding; so I waited for the real life
05DEC25 | RETREAT
Something is pulling me away,
and the pull is getting stronger
and stronger with each passing
day; I don’t know where it’s
coming from—or where it might
pull me to, but I don’t think I’ll
be able to fight it much longer;
if I only knew what it was or from
whence it came—if I could surmise
whether it was love or death or a
mere hint of my demise I would
know just when and where and how
to retreat, to escape if escaping is what
I need to do to fend off the thing or to
keep it at bay, to buy myself some time
to come up with the best plan of action
06DEC25 | ANGELA
I spent some time this morning
looking through old emails trying
to find one from a distant cousin,
a blind woman on my maternal
grandfather’s side of the family;
while scrolling through years of
messages, I came across one—
from five years ago—a longish
thread of conversations with a
woman named Angela, who I
apparently connected with on
a Facebook group; the messages
were vague and I couldn’t make
any sense about what we were
talking about as the odd thread
went from vegan food to divorce
07DEC25 | RESTRICTED MOVEMENT
It was high time that I clipped
my toe nails, so I made sure to
leave the toe nail clipper out so
I’d be sure to take it upstairs to
the bathroom when I got home
from work; I showered (because
it’s good to soften up the nails
before you cut them), dried my
hair (I use the blow dryer to dry
my whole body and to warm up
after my shower as by the time I
get home from work—well after
midnight—the thermostat’s been
tuned down and the bathroom is
nippy); then as I attempted to clip
my toe nails, I found it challenging
08DEC25 | DREAMS OF WATER AND MONEY
I’ve watched a lot of films this year—
three hundred and twelve to date to
be exact—and I’m certain that many
of my dreams lately reflect some of
those films; last night, for example,
a dream where I was with a group
of fellow travelers—mostly well-to
do professionals: doctors, lawyers—
hiking along some pristine dunes in
an unfamiliar country (in Africa, I’m
inclined to say); for some reason we
emptied our pockets, setting our wallets
aside; suddenly, as I was the straggler
trailing far behind, I noticed the tide
coming in and started taking money out
of the wallets while calling out to the men
09DEC25 | BIRTHDAY
Another year has passed;
the third (and the third in
silence); but this year the
silence was louder, more
pronounced and certainly
more profound; this was
the year of no return, the
year when my heart turned
cold; the year where your
memory faded from the
place it had been holding
for you; the year that made
everything good about you
and me become everything
sorrowful and grim; the year
when you became dead to me
10DEC25 | THE BOOK THAT MALLORY GAVE ME
The book that Mallory gave me,
the one by the poor sod who laid
dying in Geneva, the book that, long
ago she dedicated to me—to the first
real poet I’ve ever met; the book that
sat on my shelf for years, that traveled
with me to Spain, England and the Low
Countries—the book whose spine I never
cracked, whose pages I never turned and
whose words I never read; but now, after
all these years, my curiosity has led me
to go to the basement where the book has
occupied space in one of the dozen or so
remaining boxes that have contained the
remnants of my life for nearly forty years;
I will find it and, when I do, I will read it
11DEC25 | STATISTICS
I’ve been divorced longer
than I was married; I have
lived away from Spain two
years longer than lived there;
I’ve lived in my current home
longer than I’ve lived in any
other home I’ve lived in; the
business I currently run is the
most successful and longest run
of any business I started (going
on eight years); I’ve lived abroad
nearly half of the sixty-two years
I’ve been alive; I’ve been speaking
Spanish for thirty-eight years; I’ve
raised five children and have changed
around twenty-five thousand diapers
12DEC25 | DEFLATED EXPECTATIONS
I’m not even sure what I was
thinking, all I know is that I
really didn’t want to be there,
not today, and not with her;
she really is kind and lovely,
but there simply isn’t a spark,
no intellectual compatibility
and unfortunately no physical
attraction; I don’t really know
what I expected anyway, perhaps
someone to be swept off their
feet and fall madly in love with
me; that sort of thing used to
happen, forty years ago, but
I’m no longer that person and
I guess I really don’t want to be
13DEC25 | SARAN WRAP
It would be nice—greatly appreciated even—
if you could put the leftovers on a plate or
into a bowl and cover them with Saran Wrap
or some aluminum foil rather than—like you
did with last night’s ravioli—left them in the
colander where they dried out and somehow
mysteriously fused together into a patty of
rubbery something or another which defies
description; and how hard is it to place the
cutlery into the cutlery tray like you’re not
a savage; or putting the glassware and mugs
into the cupboard with some semblance of
harmony; and not complaining when there
are dishes left in the sink when you leave
tea-stained mugs in the bedroom and the
bathroom; how about a little less hypocrisy
14DEC25 | LATE AUTUMN SUNSET
There is something magical
in the late autumn sunset; I
was sitting at my desk and
all at once there appeared an
apparition of sorts, something
cosmic gleaming on the surface
of my black fleece hoodie; it was
a reflection of the sun setting at the
back of the house shining off of a
small plastic ruler I keep in my pen
cup—actually a mug from my first
semester at DePaul with the old school
logo; then I remembered I had some
cabbage soup on the stove and while I
was eating, the groceries arrived; after
that I finished my soup thinking about Rob
15DEC25 | ANOTHER TYPE OF SUNSET
There’s nothing joyous or
romantic about getting old,
especially if the pangs of
aging are prominent and at
the center of things; there is
also a sunset that occurs from
within, the slow dying of the
embers that once burned like
wildfire, that once illuminated
the world and warmed my very
existence throughout the years
of my life; those flames are now
slowly dying out, running their
course and moving towards the
final smoldering flicker of light,
dimming darker and darker still
16DEC25 | METAMORPHOSIS
I’d always wondered how,
when and why people—men
mostly—go through this sort
of metamorphosis as they age;
this drastic change of character
where they become cantankerous
and lose the child’s heart with
which they were born; I have
always looked at these men with
a mix of pity and disdain, sad to
see what they became, wondering
how the very spark of life had all
but burned out; but it seems we all
eventually become the thing we most
abhor as I too, of late, find myself at
a crossroads between these two worlds
17DEC25 | DREAMS
My dreams are beginning to consume me;
as much as I use sleep as an excuse to dream—
to escape the muddled reality of my waking
life—or to sleep (as an excuse to escape the
muddled reality of my waking life); lately, it
seems, as if my dreams are trying to bring me
into their world, perhaps permanently, as the
host or the star of their featurettes, to fix into
their system my complete surrender; last night
it was oxygen, every way of providing oxygen,
as my G.P. managed to comfortably intubate me
as I lied there on the operating table in a simulation
meant to help me understand what was going to
happen when time came; I told her I was looking
for an intellectual equal, someone to talk to who
understands me and understands the world I live in
18DEC25 | THE LEAST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR
I’ve never been fond of these gentile rituals:
decorated trees, overindulgence in food and
drink and society’s objectionable practice of
gift giving; I did, however, partake freely in
these customs on two different fronts: one,
in being Jewish and celebrating Chanukah,
the eight-day festival of lights where children,
at least when I was a kid, were given presents
every night of the holiday; and, owing to the
fact that my adoptive father was Protestant, we
did celebrate Christmas with his family every
year—and I have the fondest recollections of
those holidays spent at my aunt Marge’s house
devouring her and aunt Pat’s most excellent pies;
but I have come to the end of my gift giving days
and will reassess how and what to give and to whom
19DEC25 | A REPUGNANT DISPOSITION
I have never known anyone
as unpleasant; a shape-shifting,
multi-headed monster with the
most repugnant disposition; brash
and callous, lacking any semblance
of empathy, without kindness or a
kind word uttered to anyone other
than strangers or colleagues; a fraud
and a phony with so few redeeming
qualities they barely add up to one;
once you fall into the Venus flytrap,
you’re doomed; once you tread into
the quicksand and take the poison, there
is no turning back, no reclaiming the life
that was stolen away, and no chance of
ever restoring your good health and sanity
20DEC25 | THE UNRECTIFIABLE MISTAKE (PART ONE)
I will defend, until my last breath,
that I could have saved my marriage
and that by not doing so, made the
worst choice and most unrectifiable
mistake I have ever made and, to this
day, regret it terribly; we stood in the
doorway to our kitchen in the house
we bought and completely renovated
less than a year earlier; she had just
returned from an extended stay at her
parent’s home in Alicante, where she
toiled day and night to complete her
doctoral dissertation; and on the day
she returned, we had a somewhat, but
not exaggerated, heated discussion and
that was it, not another word exchanged
21DEC25 | THE UNRECTIFIABLE MISTAKE (PART TWO)
You moved back into our rental
with the kids, the long drawn-out
process began—it wasn’t pretty,
but I imagine it seldom ever is;
I stayed in the new place, drowned
my sorrows and loneliness with a
slew of lovers, mostly neighborhood
spinsters and single mothers who had
been trying to catch my fancy from the
moment word got out of the separation
and my apparent availability; one was a
close family friend going through her own
marital impasse and I felt a glimmer of
hope; but never did I make an attempt
to reconcile my marriage and god only
knows why; could have, should have
22DEC25 | THE GHOST OF CHANUKAH PAST
As a kid, I would typically get one
present on each of the eight nights
of Chanukah; the best year ever was
when I was given a G.I. Joe—the one
with lifelike hair and beard—on the
first night; that set up my first ever
thematic Chanukah as on the second
night and every night after that, I was
given a related G.I. Joe gift; one night
it was a footlocker containing a uniform
or two, another night it was accessories:
guns, helmets, hand combat gear and the
like; but the last night was the big ticket
item—the G.I. Joe Super Adventure Set,
with an ATV, winch, Arctic gear, a white
husky mascot, mummy, gorilla and shovel
23DEC25 | A BURDEN
One usually thinks of a person
becoming a burden when they
are old, decrepit and unable to
care for themselves; on the other
hand, it appears that I, in my early
sixties and of fairly good kilter, am
becoming (if I haven’t already) a
burden to my family; so much so,
that my three oldest children can’t
even stand to have me in their lives
any longer and have all but ceased
communicating with me; my two
youngest (daughters) put up with my
drolleries, dry humor, wisecracks and
attempts to spend more time with them
hardly knowing how little there is left
24DEC25 | NOCHE BUENA (A GOOD NIGHT)
Back when I was married to my Spanish
wife, tonight—Christmas Eve—would be
spent at her parent’s house in Alicante in
a massive flat in an even more massive
apartment block on the beach overlooking
the Cabo de la Huertas on Spain’s eastern,
or Levantine, coast; the family—twenty or
more during the heydays—representing four
generations, would gather and partake of the
holiday spirit with food and festivities; how
fondly I remember those days, looking out
over the bay at the lights of the buildings
that stretched all the way into town, becoming
intoxicated by the warm sea breeze that always
seemed to come around again at Christmastime;
those are the times of my life I miss the most
25DEC25 | STANNO TUTTI BENE (EVERYBODY’S FINE)
It’s one my favorite films by
one of my favorite directors;
it stars Marcello Mastroianni
as a retired father of five (like
me), who travels around Italy
visiting his adult children with
no warning (or so he thinks) in
an attempt to convince them to
join their father for a family
dinner at a restaurant (spoiler
alert: they don’t all show up);
but, despite knowing the little
secrets his children harbor, he
proclaims his pride and feigns
happiness at their successful
lives; it’s a cautionary tale, one
that is playing out in real time
26DEC25 | I FORGIVE YOU
I know you didn’t write
that song for me, but I
guess it can’t hurt if I
believe you did; and if
you actually did, I can
only say that what you
expressed in those brief
seventy-six seconds—in
music, lyrics and emotion—
were enough to lift me to
a place of deliverance, to a
single moment (fleeting as
it may have been) of clarity
and jubilation; I might not
have ever been a star, but
I burned nearly as brightly
27DEC25 | THE WINTER CABIN
I’ve never had a winter cabin,
but I do like how my mind can
conjure up the image of having
one, especially the scene of the
last day when the suitcases are
packed and the milk crates filled
with unused supplies—bricks of
milk and bags of chips and snacks—
and sleeping bags and bed linens
roughly folded and piled up on the
couch (which will soon be covered
in clean white sheets); then I’d make
the rounds, checking under the beds,
tightening the faucets and making
sure the fire is out and the damper
closed; a life I have never experienced
28DEC25 | ONCE MARRIED
Sometimes I have to remind myself
that I have only been married once;
and while there have been others in
my life, I have only ever had one wife,
and she was the most worthy of all the
women I’ve known and loved (though
I must admit to not having loved many
of them); she was kind and selfless, a
good mother, daughter and sister; and
she gave me her unconditional love,
understanding and tenderness; she held
my hand when I was sick and put my
needs above hers in times when I most
needed her; when you marry a woman
like that, being married once is easy and
learning from the past even easier still
29DEC25 | DECREPIT TOWN
I have tried for some time
to not be so judgmental and
critical of strangers, the people
I see in passing, walking in the
street or on the trams and busses
I use to get to work; I have tried
to look at them with a soft heart,
with kindness and empathy, not
knowing them or the challenges
they face; but the city is becoming
more and more decrepit as the years
go by; people becoming more and
more brutish and less and less human;
and I wonder what will become of the
people and the city where I have lived
as long as I have lived almost anywhere
30DEC25 | THE END IS NIGH
The last poem of the year
is all but one day away; I
won’t say it’s been easy to
keep up with, it’s been more
challenging than most years;
and there was the entire month
of September when not a single
poem was penned due to a most
horrendous bout with the flu that
left me all but rendered bedridden;
and I’ll admit to wasting way too
many good brain cells on poems
of retribution and the airing of
grievances; but there were also
plenty of poems that gave me a
pronounced sense of gratification
31DEC25 | SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL
I’ve always been mostly empathetic in nature,
siding with the underdog, the little guy or the
damsel in distress; my heart often breaks for
others; I remember a day in high school, many
years ago, when Mr. Kerrill’s briefcase was
stolen from his classroom and contained data
for a study he had been working on for years;
I felt so bad for Jack that I wanted to search in
every locker and bin in the school to find his case;
and that’s just one of the many occurrences I have
witnessed in my life; but on the flip side, I have
a peculiar empathy for those hardly worthy of it;
Hitler, for example, which is odd—if not totally
unsettling—for a Jew like myself, in that I see
him as a child, bouncing on his father’s knee or
playing with children or doing what normal kids
do; yes, he became a monster but I often wonder
what could have happened to that bouncing baby
boy to turn him into one; and I have, over the years,
developed this off-center compassion for Donald
Trump; don’t ask me why—I deeply despise the
man and everything he stands for—but I’ve never
felt sorrier for anyone than I have for him (and
don’t ask me to explain how or why); then there’s
her; the darkest blot on my life, someone who I let
in that I never should have; a wolf in sheep’s clothing
that I could have never imagined in my worst nightmares
would betray me (but did); a woman so conflicted and
tormented by childhood traumas, deep emotional scars
and a shattered self-esteem, that she chose to take out all
of her self-loathing and anguish on me and the family she
has all but decimated; but still—through all the pain and
torment she has caused me—through the belittling and
bullying, through the deceit and torment, the gaslighting,
emasculation, divisiveness, alienation, hostility and utter
cruelty, I can say I somehow feel sympathy for this devil