Rae of sight

She was the one who spotted

a fawn in the thicket.

She felt watched and sought the source.

Her eyes pulled up to the top cap of a cement post

where a cat has perched his torso behind a trees' trunk,

she catches a green flash and but holds it like a butterfly.

She did not smell the smoke since she was not there,

she pointed out the scorched earth,

noting the stain of fire.

The marine layers danced in choral lines

without fear of heights,

her sights set upon cirrus clouds,

she traces her lips over the shape of words

forming patches on her salted skin,

she is alone in wondering

how to move the world

without making a sound.


Painting by Franz Marc, 'Deer in aMonasteryy Garden' (1912) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Simile like a lady

They say she was like

No metaphor-thus appears

Everywhere. Here. See. 


Art By Daderot (Own work) [Public domain or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sleepy head, dream your own dream

Something said Sleep, and she did.
Someone said she should Wake-Up, she did not hear.
Some people thought she should give up, quit it-she didn't...
Somebody believed her dream, somebody didn't believe in her, she didn't know whom to believe.
Some thought she could choose, some thought Bad Choices, she dared to try, to lose-she must.
So few knew-
she woke up.


Painting by Johannes Vermeer, A Woman asleep at table (1657) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sacrificial She

Demands are shrill
lilt a tone that cuts the fleshy ear
and worse as a pseudo nurse
I fear-in trembling-today
I am wilted even further away.
Lillies in the valley lean toward the rain,
the pain-
my dear-
I dare to note how sap drains slow,
like the frozen pulse-amber loves her prize,
and time flies while doing for others
sweet things softly, conjuring energy,
time in disguise as your own
with never ceasing chores
that occupy us so slyly
while we are looking down
oblivious
to others
looking up to us.
It is the way we listen
when Justice is served
evenhandedly.



Painting by By Hatherell, William, The Last Message (1918) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

In the company of strangers

I thought...
Perhaps she wasn't as lonely
as she thought she was...

Perhaps she wasn't able to see
the difference between wanting
to be thought about
and thinking she was wanted...

She was perhaps mistaking
that forgotten feeling
for need...

I thought
being alone
this long, intentionally
she would see, she shows me
her life had been precisely the way
she wanted
it to be, in gratitude for solitude...

I thought wrong
she said she wanted a man
more than she could stand
since she had not planned
for the golden years
or for the gold she knew
she was due...

She was sure
after all those silver lined years
she still had insecure fears
and had forgotten all about
how much
she thinks of herself,
and what she wants.
She is all she will ever need...

A lone she
in a crowd of couples.


Image by Jurij Šubic [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

(S)he

She has not looked at her nails
in over a month
except in rude irritation
for snags.
Out of the corner
of her eye-
She is spooked
by a haggard figure
staring at her
in the mirror
on the far wall.
She can taste her own breath
and wonders briefly-
what or when was the last thing
she ate?
She scavenges frantically
for anything
quick and small
in the kitchen-
but first does the dishes
and takes the trash-
and gets the phone-
She makes promises
and hurries about.
She feels a draft-and then-
wraps her robe tight.
She makes sure-
She makes good-
She hopes she makes it-
She is needed
to make sure-
She is not wrapped
too tight-
She forgot to check
if she was still breathing,
since swaddling
now causes SIDS-
and the mirror is
opaque and dusty.



Image of painting by Joaquín Sorolla c. 1895[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.