Posts for June 16, 2022 (page 8)

Two guitarists jamming
after dinner in the living room
but not quite together at first,
more duel than duet, Andrés
laying down a line that conjures
a flamenco dancer as Larry
puts her in a black lace gown,
but her step is heavy & halting
& the lace keeps tearing
at the seams. Laverne & I sit
sipping wine as Andrés & Larry
circle each other like bull
& matador, & then something
clicks like a castanet & falls into
place & Laverne leans forward
& says Get it—& they get it,
get it & run with it & take us
with them to a dusty taberna
in Barcelona, the Rioja flowing
& the smell of paella perfuming
the night air as the dancer takes
the stage at last, her back ramrod
straight & her head flung back
& her feet flying faster & faster.
The lace is moist at her neckline
& her eyes are closed as if she’s
dancing for no one but herself,
nothing between her & the music
& the night, & we are her, dancing
& dancing & dancing in swirling
black lace, our eyes shut tight,
nothing between us & the music,
the music & the night. 

A cool morning 
I run my finger through the dew on the windows 

The day will bring the heat 
And the heat will cause rage to sweat from the pores 
Of those men and wemon who have been standing close to the edge 

Until then 
We lay in silence 
The cool breeze of the box fan 
And it’s overworked mechanical sound 
Lulling me back to a place beyond this existence 

When I wake again
The dew will have evaporated and the breeze will be warm 
The box fan will remain
Its overworked mechanics screaming 
The heat makes everything harder than it needs to be 

Maturity brought nothing –
only tipped chairs, wrinkled laundry.
And at the end, as a saving grace –
fewer secret rendezvous,
more secret breakups.

Author: Marin Bodakov
Translator: Katerina Stoykova

lost lover #9

We always talked about tomorrow
but I never enjoyed the day,
it’s one of my faults I’d say
you who woefully waltz away
into a past that I set astray 
you let me know I didn’t know you when you walked away
you said you weren’t yourself when you met me that sunny day 

lost lover #21

I stared out how the river generated reflection 
I tend to think about you with many misconceptions 
there’s no shade and heat alters my complexion 
mountains barricade me to look towards your direction 
behind the tree line of the river in a meadow your rejections 
a sky, sky blue openly viewed with retrospection 
damn me, damn you, damn nature too for the recollection

Lightning strikes spread across the grey sky
electric air charges my body

I inhale this storm and hold it deep in my lungs until I nearly suffocate
because this moment only comes once in a lifetime 

The pulsing static pops without warning
I listen for cadences where I can exhale energy to fill the silent void between

The wind whips through the trees,
breaking limbs, sending them crashing down as they splinter along the rain-soaked ground
broken powerlines shoot sparks like marbles bouncing along the slick blacktop
I resist running towards the chaos
but such avoidance is only temporary

The storm will soon be overhead 
Tempestas will summon me to appear before her
I only hope that she will find me worthy of such presence

left them someone
in the kitchen, maybe, or
the living room
might be out in the car or
they could be at work

did i have them when i
went to the bathroom or
out on the back porch or
when i took the trash down

might be in my purse or
in my book bag or
on or in my desk

could be inside the refrigerator–
wouldn’t be the first time

oh, here they are–on my head–stupid glasses

Continual mind movies reel past
as language sequesters. I paint
Gabriel’s voice.

Mix red & black to birth
brown & he speaks. I feel
turtle shell. I hear

the opening & closing
of a chimney flue. Tom Waits.
My hand explores the rugged

surface of a ranch
fence in Wyoming. Prairie
scrub & wide open

horizon smell like a sprig
of wild asparagus & a rushing
creek. A ranch hand in faded

denim is silent. The thud
of cattle hooves like staccato
from a cello. Add more blue

to the brown, which gives
a hint of purple to his voice
& the smell of cracked egg.

Surpassing words —
what I see but can’t say
when reflection in
your eye mirrors mine –
a world too big to fit
into a teacup of talk

It will be hot today.
Hotter than that night 
when you were twelve  
after a day at the Jersey shore
when your poor skin glowed  
red and even the fan blowing
straight on you couldn’t cool
you enough to sleep.

It will be hot today.
Hotter than that day 
when you were thirty
driving around New Mexico 
when you burned your hand
trying to open the car door
and a roll of lifesavers
melted into the dashboard.

Action Recommended. Stay inside. 
Pretend it’s a blizzard. Read 
the pile of books you’ve been
meaning to get to, cue up the shows 
you’ve been wanting to binge. 
Eat foods that need no cooking—
salads, sandwiches, ice cream. 
Go to bed early, dream of cooling rains.

I measure time in toenail polish. 

It used to be red –

“I’m Not Really a Waitress”

all the way down to the cuticle.

Any day now,

the remnants will be gone –

the last stain of your eyes  

grown out and removed.