Barbara Joan Tiger Bass received her MFA from Mills College (‘03) and her BA from Sarah Lawrence College (‘82).  Her poetry is published in various journals including Spillway, The Sand Canyon Review, and Canary On-line Review. She is a private creative writing teacher through her business Enjoy Learning in Oakland, California.

Three Poems (November 20, 2011. Issue 33.)

in the air

above the country
plenty of 1st class arm
space and documents

the news is all about Iraq
insurgency and the beheaded

which ever chosen language
co-opted accent of refugee
vs. shameful vernacular

the stiffness of L-5, S-1 coincides
with various rainy days

ignore disjointed information
focus on seat belt explanations
and exit row agreements

carry a picture jasper stone
to breathe into once in a while

concentrate on the immeasurable
moment where altitude at top speed
propels time forward to satiate wish

...but now I see

the poultry shears
reappeared after five
strange years without
an event to mark their
transition right back
onto the counter

a light meter hidden
in the junk drawer
a chaos of dirty coins
haphazard matches and corks
strewn amidst dead batteries
kitchen scissors and dental floss

now rearranged: corks in an empty basket
on a shelf above the fridge and the coins
washed on normal cycle
forty dollars of shiny metal
in two wooden bowls beside
an odd assortment of liqueurs

suddenly new order and there
they were, sharp ends pointed down
in their slot on the knife block
as if clear space eradicated loss
or what is possible is already

in the electric doldrums

ComCast shot a thick black wire
along the wall of my relationship corner
in my faux faded rose garden bedroom
and when they returned to fix the eyesore
spread a cable around my brown
shingled house like a boa constrictor

now, the phone is dead
after I spent hours with
a customer care agent
who had no answers
and then repeated "yes"
and the last four digits
of my Social Security #
to an automated voice
which disconnected me

which catapulted me into shadow
and with a desperate peek
at the organic Vodka lying
on its side in the freezer
and a half-sarcastic quip on my mind
well it must be five o'clock somewhere
in the world I turned on my cell