Skipping sounds

Thrown stones at glass ponds

Reflecting cracks or ripples,

though heard, no echo…

Painting By Józef Chełmoński, Pond in Radziejowice, (1898) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Looking (for a) Glass

I don't need to tell you,
you've already found it.
I don't know how, most people don't
look that hard.
I don't know if I'm happy you did-
which doesn't move me to change
places, here.

I don't mind being stashed
cached in the very dark back,
be-hind-sight
out of the light.
I don't take up too much space-
which is why I haven't been cast out
yet, I'm easy to forget, easy to lose
sight of.

I don't detract from the ones right
in front, pulled out, polished
and put back so pretty-
most often that's not me.

I'm not fine or porcelain, stamped or etched.
I'm not clear but clouded with a chip
where you're likely to put your lip,
yet I still hold water and have dusty hope
built up that someone will reach over
the others for me.

Every time a door opens, I tremble.
I think they can see me too, like you
while I'm lying low, but no,
I'm just a back-up cup.
Overflow, you know when
extreme circumstances make
desperate measures, hot or cold
I will hold.

I don't want anyone else to see
all of these stains inside of me-
the ones you've already seen
and aren't afraid of making more
as you pull me up and take me out
-I pour-
wanting your bloody lips all the more.





Image by Aurélio de Figueiredo (1894) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

From Wails to the Shuddering Sea

When I wonder

do we first think

we Are

welcome to the world?

From the abyss

of a watery womb

we hear

outside

of Us

we know

when words fail

we wail

upon arrival

into blinding light

from maternal night

Immobile and trapped

in our scaly shells

worn by the tides

we call Time

we wither

from glass to grain

too small to complain

anymore

utter

nonsense

We forget

Shards and slices

pieces of Us

that cut to the race

humanity

drops of sea

expire We

at the finish line

of memory

shuddering 

blindly

in our final victory

drowned 

in revelry.

Image By Koga Harue, Koga Harue, 1929 (died in 1933) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.