Yellow Shift and Unruly
Joris Soeding
for Blake and Victoria
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Thank you to Christa, Mami and Papa, the Poskozim family.
Praise for Terek Puckett’s “The 20 Best Neo-Noir Films Of The 1970s” for thirty-three movies to consider. My coffee-stained list was the foundation for many library visits in search of films that inspired the poems.
Gratitude is due to my father-in-law, Paul Poskozim, Sr., for two of the cover photos for a draft of the chapbook and countless discussions on poetry and each stage of this collection.
Acknowledgement is made to the editors of the following publications in which these poems previously appeared:
Briller Magazine: “Complicated,” “Under Tokyo Lights”
Light: A Journal of Photography and Poetry: “Iniquitous Suits and the Dead Brother”
Love Like Salt (Anthology, Manchester, UK): “In Between Jazz”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Table of Contents
In Between Jazz
Slowed
Silencing of ’76
Iniquitous Suits and the Dead Brother
Complicated
Kristen
During the Search for a Missing Girl in the Keys
Secrets from Hamburg
New Mexico
Under Tokyo Lights
About the Author
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In Between Jazz
he won’t let her in
blonde in a green dress
bright red nail polish
even with a drink he’s silent to her
until she nearly strolls
fidgeting a hoop earring
reassuring him that he can speak
he has his nametag on from the conference
a faded photograph of the ocean and rocks
hangs above the wallpaper crease
she feels her phone is being recorded
he will check his soon enough
Slowed
he invites her to walk as she practices flipping a silver baton in the front yard
she writes that he looks like James Dean
on dates he talks of a tree in the river
sends his vow of standing next to her in a box with a large, red balloon
the dollhouse burns
car sputters into the street
they hide as James and Priscilla
basket fish near the forest, dance to ‘Love is Strange,’ stare at the clouds
they inearth some of their things, like photos, in a bucket
maybe someone would find it and reason in 1,000 years
something’s between them by the lights of Cheyenne
Nat King Cole’s ‘A Blossom Fell’ and their shadows from headlights
Silencing of ’76
nothing shakes the one in a belted, tan turtleneck
not even shots fired at the other woman
blood falls onto the hood
below a limp, electric worker
nothing is reported until then, followed by white smoke
night began only with a coffee and two sugars
Iniquitous Suits and the Dead Brother
he reads ‘Farewell, My Lovely’ on the train
English countryside before smokestacks, soup, sunset
finishing tea, he straightens up the lapel
while watching screws swivel into his brother’s casket
yellow-beige sofa, muted orange drapery, wallpaper that matches pillows
he sits next to a brunette with long eyelashes and a white, silk shirt, half-unbuttoned
after knowing who is responsible for the murder
he mails a manila envelope to the Vice Squad in London
next is the gentleman, a classmate another life ago
drives a burgundy Cadillac and is reminded about losing all horse races
Complicated
in a red bathrobe and washed hair
much different than the man he was downtown, scraggly and sauntering
trying to fit in with the grit and worn room
now it’s simple—light through windows from the backyard
then phone calls without “hello” and “bye”
photos of men with money and property
green station wagons near Mulholland Drive
people in turtlenecks; which one is trustworthy?
in Italy, far from the red chandelier with tassels,
indoor pool with tall plants, bar, paintings, fireplace
there are cars racing on cliffs
her arms around his shoulders yet he doesn’t embrace his mistress
Kristen
Michigan to California
she’s fled from father
for all that wasn’t
in that dining room
that small, snowy town
During the Search for a Missing Girl in the Keys
he follows them
sees her kiss him in the car
in front of the Magnolia Theater
he writes the license plate number in a little notebook
his wife looks ecstatic
he waits for the man by playing chess
rather than argue
he tells him about the past
interception in ’63, father leaving him
what he once was
at forty he gives up the private investigator agency
slowly opens a plastic tub
spoons vanilla ice cream
lies down on his desk
head on the answering machine
his shirt off, hers unbuttoned, under sun yellow sheets
he fidgets with the metal stick and chunks of bread
fondue pot at the bed’s end
she says he’s different this time, distant
they speak of his father and finding the right clues
Secrets from Hamburg
he drives under yellow and red stars
near the trolley, Perry Como’s ‘Christmas Dream’ on the radio
trailed by news of JFK and Parkland Hospital
he was already elsewhere before Dallas
not in the holidays and cobblestone streets
after stopping at the deceased elder’s apartment
he takes his diary to the car and home
in bed with his girlfriend
then walks to the kitchen, in a robe, to boil water for tea
she follows in his dress shirt to the table with jam jars
while she dances at the Regina Cabaret he begins reading
under the dark yellow down comforter and Holocaust stories even at 3:30 a.m.
he must find the man who took the late elder’s wife
approaches his boss at Komet Magazine
justice and the cover story
he is hounded while shopping with her
the crowd of St. Pauli train station
he knows where the murderer hides
among suits, cigars, an electric company
he drives to Heidelberg with 1,000 Marks and an address
New Mexico
they make love on a round, bright yellow bed
bank owner’s secretary and the robber
facing two egg-like chairs
flowers in a vase
untucked cream sheets
the owner
framed and on a nightstand
he tells her about his late wife’s wedding ring
now on his pinky
well after black powder near the pines
gloves on the steering wheel of a white van
Under Tokyo Lights
he returns after twenty years
trenchcoated and strolling the market
chooses white roses for old love
the bar and coffee shop with his last name
he no longer drinks
she is cleaning glasses
says they’re closed
she takes it all in, is in disbelief, hesitates
they drink tea over the scrapbook
discuss secrets and photos in sergeant stripes
no gray hair
in front of the three ceramic, monkey statues
finally kiss—time gone shortens it
tomorrow he continues for Kyoto
leaving her for a few days
and the canvas of faded trees
to reflect on a train with orange and ochre curtains
wonder of a grown daughter
which land is home
copyright 2018, Joris Soeding
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About the Author
Joris Soeding’s third chapbook, In Between the Places Where Night Falls, was published by Lummox Press. His first full-length poetry collection, Home in Nine Moons, is forthcoming from Clare Songbirds Publishing House. Soeding’s writing has appeared in publications such as Another Chicago Magazine, Belle Rêve Literary Journal, The Horror Zine Magazine, and Red River Review. He is a 7th/8th grade Social Studies teacher in Chicago, where he resides with his wife, son, and daughter.
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