POEMOGRAPHY | 2025
Poems by R.M. Usatinsky
pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry
MARCH
01MAR25 | THE CALL IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
I’d waited a lifetime for it, dreaded it,
hoped it would never come, but death
is inevitable; so when the phone rang
just after two a.m. and mom’s name
appeared on the screen of my phone,
I knew that this was the call in the
middle of the night, the one I knew
would come one day; I had called my
mother just hours before, she said dad
was a having a bad day, that he couldn’t
breathe and the nurse had called for an
emergency delivery of oxygen; she said
try talking to your father, so I did, I said
hi dad it’s me, Ricky, and as he stared into
the screen I knew it would be the last time
I ever saw him alive, and indeed it was
02MAR25 | STUCK IN A RUT
I suppose you could say that I’m stuck,
a little stuck in a little rut; stuck in a little
rut with my big fat gut; stuck in a little rut
with my big fat gut eating a nut; stuck in a
little rut with my big fat gut eating a nut
contemplating getting a crewcut; then I’d
be stuck in a little rut with my big fat gut
eating a nut with a crewcut; and to celebrate
my crewcut I’d go and buy a donut, a cream-
filled donut for my big fat gut to celebrate my
crewcut and for being stuck in a little rut while
eating a nut; and with my donut in my big fat
gut, I’ll go and find a hut and dig myself a little
rut where I’ll sit on my butt and eat a nut while
looking at my crewcut wondering why oh why
I’ve got a big fat gut and such a tiny little butt
03MAR25 | A PORCUPINE SKIT
Someone’s gotta dress up as the
porcupine when you’re doing a
porcupine skit; a child or small
person to don the costume and
suffer through the long process
of placing the quills in just the
right places; come to think of it,
I’m reminded about the time my
son was learning how to say the
word porcupine in Spanish; he
had a time saying puercoespín,
which literally means spiny pig;
he would say cuerpoespín, the
literal translation meaning spiny
body which, to me anyway, seems
like an even better way to say it
04MAR25 | MAYBE
Maybe life doesn’t want me
hangin' around no more; not
making a fuss or going from
one thing to the next; sitting
too much, standing too much,
eating too much, sleeping too
much, not sleeping enough; I
wonder how much more I’ll
have to endure before the truth
is revealed, before they have to
cut me open and have the whole
thing blow up in their faces; I
used to think I was worthy of a
dignified, peaceful end, but now
I’m reminded that the end is still
the end no matter how much fuss
05MAR25 | ASHES TO ASHES
The idea doesn’t sit well with me;
your body, already emaciated and
just barely recognizable, lying on
some slab in a refrigerated box in
the backroom or basement of the
place where they took you a few
hours after you breathed that last
breath in the presence of your son
and wife; where they removed you
with such care and dignity, draped
with the American flag and taken
down in the elevator to a waiting
vehicle; but the image of you being
placed into the cremator, the flames
engulfing your already ravaged body,
is too much for my imagination to bear
06MAR25 | WHAT IS LOSS?
Loss is many things, not one thing
or another; it is the permanent loss
of a parent who dies, leaving behind
loved ones and memories and loss
for those who are left in the wake of
loss; loss is estrangement, when a son
or daughter discard a parent without a
trace of compassion, without a why or
explanation; loss is a brother who won’t
reach out though he continues a faraway
admiration but for some reason simply
can’t bring himself to calling and only
sends off brief updates when their mother
(not their father) is unwell, hospitalized,
or in some other peril; loss is an endless
void, an abyss of what will never be again
07MAR25 | NASIRA
You are serenity, slowly moving ripples
that caress my spirit in those few fleeting
moments we share; but I wonder what
you see when you look at me, look into
my eyes; and what you feel when I tell
you my stories, woes and longwinded
anecdotes about my children who won’t
speak to me or my belly who speaks too
loudly or my past that lives too deeply
within me; what do you make of this old,
broken man? do you think he can be fixed?
do you really think I have the power to fix
myself? I left you today and went to buy
some eggs and other foods then walked to
the Vliet and looked at the water, trees, sky,
and birds; and I thought of you thinking of me
08MAR25 | THE MOON (AS A DAYTIME SPECTACLE)
It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon,
the sun illuminates the pale blue sky
as a gentle breeze slowly moves the
newly sprouted greenery on the trees
across the canal; and from my window
vantagepoint I can clearly see the moon
in its waxing gibbous splendor floating
high above the tree tops (I have to adjust
my eyes to make sure it’s the moon and
not a pale smudge of birdshit the window
washer might have missed last week when
his extendible hose/brush slammed into
the window and scared me half to death);
I look at the moon as a daytime spectacle,
a thing I know is there but shouldn’t be, at
least not seen in the brightness of daylight
09MAR25 | DREAMS INSIDE OF DREAMS
I love having dreams inside of other dreams,
especially when they’re set in Chicago; in last
night’s dream I was heading down deep into the
bowels of the subway; seeing the down escalator
was out of service, I decided halfway down to try
sliding the rest of the way and it was the most fun,
exhilarating experience, like an amusement park ride,
and once I reached the bottom of the long escalator, I
was overcome by a fit of giggles; noticing there were
options for both busses and L trains, I boarded a bus
towards home; just after the bus pulled out of the depot,
I spotted an older African American woman I knew
riding a bike, so I got off the bus to greet her but lost
track of her; in the second dreamscape, I recounted the
dream to my family at the dinner table telling them I had
taken the Peterson Avenue bus home before waking up
10MAR25 | CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT
I’ve always been one with a curious nature,
wondering how things work (like photocopy
machines, moonlight, and how famous rock
stars get paid); I was hoping to have been a
rock star myself to see firsthand how the money
gets from point A (radio stations, record stores,
streaming services, etc.) to Point B (the artist’s
bank account); so much bookkeeping and so
much money passing through so many hands, it
seems mindboggling really; but my curiosity of
late has been of a more consequential matter in
that it concerns a particular medication I’ve been
taking—Amlodipine—for the treatment of high
blood pressure, which I stopped taking a few days
ago as it was making me sick; now my curiosity
is focused on how that decision will play out
11MAR25 | YOU NEVER FORGET
I pulled my bike out of the basement
this morning for the first time in two
years, dusted it off and walked it over
to the bike shop I’ve been using for
minor repairs and spring tune-ups; the
Turkish owner greeted me and took
the bike from me then gave it a once
over and squeezed the back tire telling
me it would be ready at three; I haven’t
been on a bike in a long time, not since
hurting my back while riding over some
uneven pavements on my way back to
the amusement park where we’d been
spending the weekend when I went home,
albeit briefly, to feed the cat and clean her
litterbox; you never forget how to ride a bike
12MAR25 | DUST TO DUST
Mom called to tell me that the
thing has been done (funny I
can’t seem to bring myself to
say the word) and that her and
my brother will be bringing dad
home later today; what a strange
thing to say, I thought to myself,
he’s not actually coming home;
and I know it’s a euphemism and
I know it’s meant simply to soften
the harsh reality, but I think it’s
better to say what it is, but I guess
everyone has their own way of
dealing with grief and finding
ways of seeking comfort during
a time of such profound loss
13MAR25 | LONG SHADOWS
I had been out for a midday stroll,
my body casting long shadows on
the well-worn pavement, when all
at once a sun shower swept in and
dowsed me with a light sprinkling
of rain; but with the rain, I noticed
that my shadow had suddenly gone,
vanished into thin air; I wondered if,
for those few fleeting seconds of time,
my soul had departed my body; and
then, in an instant, it returned as if it
had been to some otherworldly place,
returning again to whence it came, in
me, filling the void it left when the rain
appeared and doused my shadow with
its dewy mist and fine stinging spray
14MAR25 | MY MOST HARROWING FEARS
As I head swiftly into old age, I am beginning
to amass a collection of what I call harrowing
fears, fears which have very little basis in any
genuine reality other than obsessions about this
or that and things that are very unlikely to occur;
no, it’s not what you’re thinking: coronary artery
disease, cancer, dementia––not that those don’t
cross my mind every now and again (okay, so
maybe more than that)––but truly outrageous and
nonsensical things like, for example, my fear of
being bludgeoned to death, either while riding on
on a city tram and being attacked by a lunatic with
a hammer, or someone bashing my head in with a
sledge-hammer while I’m listening to my meditation
on a bench on the banks of the waterway; I also fear
people randomly falling to their death from the sky