a few thin lines
can make a difference
to someone who is full of
their opinion
“Yours” in blood red
Forever carved into me
Each beat of my heart
Trickling down my left thigh
How do you keep tearing me down
From the past
Through space and time
Ten years
You’ve been apart of me
My story
Turned into something I don’t recognize
Something I’m not connected to
I hold my bitterness next to my heart
Anger in my hips
And you in the back of my mind
Forever watching
Forever wondering
Forever hurting
Keeping me forever feeling
Less than
Guilty
Trapped
How it feels to be yours
The church bells ring on a blue Saturday,
the caterer sets out cooked shrimp on ice,
bride and groom in the antechamber wait
somberly for DJ Stu, it was his advice
to make a grand entrance, they look so nice.
A bitter bridesmaid is two stiff drinks in,
on her phone a photo of a groomsman
a compromising picture with the bride,
should she forward it to mutual friends,
or take the high road, be kind, let it slide?
locked away in a prison
I over heard a cell phone call at Le Mediterranean
a deep voiced black woman’s fun chat with her sister in Georgia
sister’s name ~ Darlene
with a velvety smooth voice she called her sister ‘DA’
she shared happy news of her engagement to the woman sitting next to her drinking iced tea at the bar
I’d just finished reading a Psychology Today article claiming one could be deemed lucky to talk to a kind stranger
I thought I’d give it a go and test my good luck streak
I walked up to this velvety smooth voice and said,
“Hi, I’m Darlene!”
told her I thought my new nickname would be ‘DA’ after overhearing her fun conversation
She smiled ~ high on her ‘lit up’ gig ~ her love news ~ and the sun setting over the Pacific
As she ended the conversation with her sister, I told her I used to sing ‘40’s tunes and play piano with my sister standing atop the bench singing ~ as we had Showtime with Dad
Also told her I played Ja Da ~ Ja Da ~ Ja Da Ja Da ~ Jing ~Jing~ Jing and
my sister and I used to pretend we were the McGuire Sisters singing “Sugartime”
sometimes we’d sing Billy Rose’s “Papermoon”
she smiled admitting she didn’t know any of these old time tunes
i bid farewell to my new friend
walked away smiling and feeling lucky ~ I had talked to a kind stranger . . .
Stone-slicked, without apparent sungrain, soft
hazy violet horizons bid trespass
dreams of eyes that trace, unwavering, aloft,
to fresh sawed pine as to bolts by Hephaestus
igneous-edged grey, wrenched skyward by
shadowy heights, sight to home of cyclopean
Companions outlined, no, god-traced, vast, alight:
no stopping no shoulder no guides no more night
I dreamt last night that it was morning
And a man I hate, and I, sat at the table
Eating breakfast.
In front of me was a bowl of dry cereal
And for him an orange rolled beneath his palm
Silently, as the air and breath passing between us.
I idly wondered
How much he knew of quartering.
Enough to know the history?
The wording behind the amendment?
The reason it was put in place?
Or just enough to say
“You rent this place, but do not own
So your argument is void
And insult”?
But I said nothing.
Then, I idly wondered
If asked of Ozymandias, would he understand
What that traveler intended with his words?
The lessons on hubris, on impermanence?
Or would he merely say,
“This is why funding the arts is pointless
Since they amount to nothing in the end”?
But, again, I said nothing.
And, finally, I wondered
If I asked what he thought of this breakfast,
Why he had but a single orange
Stolen from the platter on my table
And I a bowl of cereal,
Would he say
“I assumed you couldn’t cook”
Because he saw the pancake mix in my pantry,
The bacon in the freezer, the eggs in the fridge,
The oil and spices in the cabinet,
Yet I took down but a bowl, a spoon,
And some dry cereal?
Or would he merely sit, and stare,
And roll his orange in silence
Because he did not want to humble himself
And ask for something more?
Or to admit he knew precisely why I did not offer more
To start?
“Did you know,” I finally said,
Irreverent, empty spoon tapping my chin,
“I know a thousand ways an empire falls?”
But I woke up before he answered.
It looks like rain, but it’s just clouds, she sighed— fighting against something greater than herself, she cries, stuck with a mind favoring incomplete tasks with stealth, she hides, her existence is an act of rebellion in itself so she lies. She left daisies upon hearing the sad news: her loved one died.
*** in Bulgarian (n) : apprehension, anxiety
** in Russian (n) : fear
1.
I am not worried none
looking forward.
2.
Suspense is my brainchild.
You are addicted to every form of me.
You prefer surfeit knowledge
wet in every empty scratchrawled inkstroke
about your future
3.
Sometimes, yes. I feel like you’re talking to me.
When I worked with you, every phrase
prophetic, every character
personal and in another word
placed and intentional.
I’m sure I know you better.
But I have my doubts.
It is lack. It is today.
I am satisfied with nothing.
Privation.
How hungry the wolf.
