Ron Riekki

POETRY

Genuflexorium

“Genuflexorium” reading and music by Vera Riekki Koss aka atmos.vera.

“For if I should despair, I should grow mad,”
— William Shakespeare,
sonnet cxl

I have onychomycosis, a demolition-derby toe;
I know God is in there too.  Everywhere.  Omni-
present.  We, so often, talk about the problem of
evil.  But what about the solution of evil?  God
is good.  No, God is goood.  I remember one
time, sitting, in a psych ward, when they called
me in for a patient who was ‘violent.’  I went in
and the patient was black, and cold, and sad, but
not violent, just begging for something that no
one was listening to.  They’d been yelling at
him to calm down, which is like trying to put
out a fire with gasoline.  I walked in, kneeled,
  floor as hassock, tuffet, a genuine genuflect,
  and asked if he was sad.  Anger is a choice.

I spoke quietly.  I told him that he looked sad.
He said it was the anniversary of his mother’s
death.  He said he was cold, wanted his coat.
I had someone get his coat.  They couldn’t find
his coat.  Then they found his coat.  He put it
on.  We talked about his mother.  He had his
hands together.  I pointed this out.  I pointed
out how we hold our hands together some-
times to feel safe, secure, how it’s a position
of prayer.  We prayed.  He’d been afraid.  He
wanted someone to listen.  I listened.  I’m so
incredibly single, it hurts.  He told me about
  being lonely.  I understood.  We had each
  other in that moment.  God is good, so good.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

“Gerard Manley Hopkins” read by Brandon Shane.

My own poems are heavy with him; let
me be that awed of God. I have a PTSD
that torments my torment, that cements
isolation. I think poems are a way to try
to cure agoraphobia. This wish to be
wished, to be held, kissed. Thank God
for God. Whoever reads this, I hope
bliss fills your existence. I hope dark
is good for you, how you rest, and this
strange revelation of the day I realized,
knew I no longer believed in ghosts, and

how I missed it, them, fear, how strong
it was, and then how gone it was. My
childhood was given to the military.
I remember talking with a pastor, there,
overseas, under a church roof, catenary,
Gothic arch, and this ache I was having
for home, and to not kill. He asked if
I was a conscientious objector. I had
never heard the term before. And this
chaplain looked so young and bored
with me. I said maybe yes. He asked

me if I wanted to try to get out of
the military. It was too late. It’d
be like getting out of being born.
I was already born. I remember
that day, that talk, the morning’s
mourning, how I was wrapped in
bombings, tons of bombings, so
that there was no going back, and
the B-52s owned the air, drowned
the sky, tonnage, and this church,
in jungle, hot in February, sweat,

my brow, how low the engines,
how there was nothing for him to
do for me, so he left me, alone, in
this church with the roaring roar.
I went back to the barracks and
wrote poems, during bombings.
How odd. How old I am now,
looking back, my back killing
me. 88,500 tons of bombs. I
believe in God. Even with all of
the dangerousness of my memory.

Ron Riekki was awarded a 2022 Pushcart Prize. Right now, Riekki’s listening to “☕ Warm Relaxing Jazz Music with Cozy Coffee Shop for Working, Studying, Sleeping” and “3 Hours of Gentle Night Rain, Rain Sounds for Sleeping — Dark Screen to Beat insomnia, Relax, Study” at the same time on YouTube.

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“Genuflexorium” Reading and Music by Vera Riekki Koss aka atmos.vera.
Link to Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/atmosvera.
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/atmos.vera.
All links: https://linktr.ee/atmos.vera