Posts for June 25, 2018 (page 2)

Who am I when I’m alone

When the masks are laid down 

all but one

My face longing to feel a kiss of the sunsetting breeze  

My fingers tremble

Heart pounds

Faded memories of freedom flashing

I lift the edge—

Footsteps come 

Frantic scurry 

Each mask

With practiced hand

In proper place

A gentle touch rest against my shoulder 

A soft gaze looks to find me

The warmth breaking through

Revealing bit by bit

As each mask crumbles

Fear pierces 

Tears flooding

I dared to look into the face 

There was no pity there

With all but one stripped away 

Fingers crawl to the edges

Releasing 

Exposing 

Who I am  

Engaged he does not notice
tears or parting wave
only one in a lifetime
first in a series
of ultimate fare thee wells

Instead I got a heavy dose of fight or flight,
the voice of fear itself
spilling out of the speaker
of a simple restaurant drive thru.
Those first words, how may I help you, today?
commanded my attention,
the diction, the inflection,
the worst of the devil’s minions.
Turns out meeting your greatest adversary
in some spectacularly explosive way
is a reality reserved only to war and movies.

I hadn’t seen him since the day
he very nearly destroyed my life,
taking every advantage of me
before kicking me to the curb
jobless and without direction.
Now I had a couple questions to ask myself.
Speed away without a word
or continue forward undeterred?
Was I ready to face him again?

And in the precious seconds allowed for an answer,
I kept making up these questions.
Who really has power to wreck my day?
(I do)
Was I going to stay afraid forever?
(No)
Simple as that.

At the window, he asked how I’d been.
I said fine
then paid in silence,
took my drink in silence,
took my food in silence.

Forgiveness is saying a particular evil
holds no more power over you.
I’m not quite at that point yet,
but the cheeseburger was quite delicious.

Howl 

Even sociopaths can lift their chin and be heard.

Nobody can take that from them.  The body signals

an urge—and let go.  Just because.  The prize for them

is the howl.  But the thing that looks at another’s howl, 

hears it, intuits the emotion behind it,

sees the emotion hover in the air

and yearns, no, does understand is 

the soul. 

Melva Sue Priddy

the one day 

i was graced with your presence

we crawled out of our cage

we found a home in our

heartbeats as we traced

our names into the

folds of the sheets

we became a piece of envy

and we ache to preserve it

Did he see your tan lines too?
North and south.
Peek-a-boo I see you. Move the curtain.
Did you let him?

Did the dusty, framed mirror
break into pieces?
I’ll bet it did.

On your knees
trying to fix it,
sections of snake
puzzle at first
then speak volumes.

Your works bag
fallen open
a tiny spoon, black with soot
a razor blade
and strap, a length of hose
the color of sad pee.

All supine marks of sin
resting on a scuff stained floor of wear
that mopping won’t fix.

Bronzed arms raised to the full moon
offering a dusting of snow then
caught in the weather.

It was my dream 
but you who were happy.

The whiteness of hidden flesh,
the drawn curtain.

in
the dead
middle
of
the
night.

She said
I am 
talking
to you

you
are not
listening.

Why are you not listening
to me the poem asked.

I do not tell stories.
I do not flake. Ever.
I hear what others can’t won’t.
I am sick of horseshit.
I just crave the truth.
Even if it consumes me.
Gore stuck in between teeth.

I do what I can…
Which is never quite enough.

Shit.
Lost my train of thought.

When the kids were little, we sampled
a new vegetable each week. In no time
we settled for green beans and potatoes.
Decades ago, we bought a house: yesterday
we oiled the creakiest door hinges. We invested
in landscaping and fencing for our back yard:
We rarely step off the back porch. For years,
we planned to expand our circle of friends
but listed excuses: traveling is too much trouble,
so-and-so lives too far away, somebody else moved,
and someone whose company we enjoyed, died.
Thanks to our daughter, who arranged plane tickets
and a hotel room, NYC, here we come, raring
to dig out of our four walls.

i.
Dawnburst, piercing pomegranate stained windows.
Morning comes to the church of red ink,
Now burdened with royal purple flowers.
ii.
Sungold, dripping along every honeycomb wallflowering.
Goldenhour slips into the house of the tiger,
Now bloomheavy with lilies.
iii.
Silvershard, spearing needles into soft damp earth.
Witchinghour falls upon a country of gardens,
Flourishing a dizzy array of petals.
iv.
Homestruck and lovely,
I watch the world’s I’ve built succumb to growth,
Vessels each, for prettythoughts and sprouting flora.