Category: Poetry

I watch the movies like everyone else

but In the lining of the curtains, the background singer’s words, the sprocket holes of the film,
effervescence of the soft drinks, the quiet red lights of the passageways,
the hum of the air conditioner, the occasional small talk,
I hear a voice they do not

Speaking without stopping through the airport and restaurant announcements,
The idle chatter, the songs and the Gospel,
it is always there

I know the meaning is not in the words,
it is my voice that frightens me.

Their dreams,
like snow mansions,
melt in the sun.

You smile
at his desire
He touches your breasts, your thighs, your womb
(In the closet
words, boots and shoes
tumble to the floor)
You offer your body,
I surrender.

Will you know it when it howls like the wind
and crashes like the sea upon your shores,
will you know it then, this silence?

it was so very quiet the day we spoke about death
I love you flowed nourishing but tasteless as water
life had taken another turn, this step we both took together
I explained to her that I was not worried
each of us would find our own way

and she understood but in a way that was different from any other understanding we had ever had
there was no connotation to this, no other meaning, no innuendo, no escape, no way out,

the sun was out and shown broadly begging the squirrels to come out and play
and play they did, with the birds, taunting each other from branches of the trees
but we lay quietly on the bed staring at the ceiling, neither sad nor happy

In the chill and invisible distance,
her brother gives a shout

and a piebald horse
emerges from the feathered brume to see

a wooden bucket tumble
and
roll down a hill, cold water
leaping
from its mouth with each bounce
until it knocks against the barn

Where
with the wind burning her cheeks
her fingers stiff in the cold

a country girl sprays
the bucket with water
to hear the rain fall in another universe.

after so many years how can she love again?
after all is decided and undecided and decided again — her thoughts about talking and trust and honesty and staying together
until the futility of deciding is understood to be futile
until the rhythm of the piece is in the mind of time
until you don’t even think about it any more

yes until then

The mourners come to greet Mrs. Bean with beautiful flowers, cheery talk and watermelon, but all she can think is that the lights are too bright and the rooms are too empty.

moonlight echoes
on the ever repeating surface
of the licorice black water
as it shifts restlessly in sleep sleep sleep.

I blame it on your kiss
That pressed my lips, burst me
Like a bubble.

I blame it on your love
That transformed my body,
Left it a bed only for you.