GAS Featured Poet: Mark McCormick

Mark McCormick is a writer, painter, and yoga instructor living in San Francisco. Professionally, he is retired from a corporate career where he managed large digital design teams. He has a fledgling TikTok channel @markdoespoems. 

I Just Wanted to Say

 

I want to say something about magic

                                                                  But I don’t know what to say

Except once I was reading a poem about a peacock

                                                                  And one landed on my deck.

 

I want to say something about ghosts

                                                                  But I don’t know what to say

Except when I was eighteen I saw one

                                                                  And he was wearing a brown plaid blazer.

 

I want to say something about lust

                                                                  On that I’m an expert.

It made me break the law once or twice

                                                                  And that’s all I’m saying. Wait for the movie.

 

I want to say something about God

                                                                  Only I’m afraid.

But once on the Ganges my boatman’s oar

                                                                  Thudded on a dead body floating.

 

I want to say something about mother

                                                                  But is there anything left to be said

Except once I had a drowsy therapist suggest I should just accept her as she is

                                                                  I rolled my eyes and never went back.

 

I want to say something about whiskey

                                                                  But dad was the authority

There must be fifty ways to hide your liquor

                                                                  I hide mine behind these lines from time to time.

 

I want to say something about truth

                                                                  But I have no idea where to start.

 

I’m 57 now; check back 

                                                                  In 50 years and I’ll try.

 

Before I go I want to say one more thing about 

                                                                  Mothers and God and the spirit and ghosts and death and truth and the Ganges and whiskey and whatnot.

I released a candle on a flower on that river, then your ashes in the heat of the flames by the crematory ghats

                                                                  I cried once and for all. Finally I got you to India. 

I guess that’s what I wanted to say after all.