Voluminous

I long to be

a book upon

that shelf,

an erect 

spine

gazing quietly

Outward

The kind of book

with extra 

creamy

blank pages

after

So we can continue

the story

a little past

The End...

Photograph info: 

Public Library- the work of Leyton Public Library Service, Church Lane, Leytonstone, London, England, UK, September 1944
Two young female library assistants rearrange and classify books at Leytonstone Public Library, Church Lane

Dated: 1944

Beauty Mark

 

You see,

I was the passenger,

I once taught him-a gentleman

always lets his lady in

first-

Anyway, 

he must do this 

still.

I wonder 

when I knew

I wonder if

I was blinded

by a reflection

or the sun.

His profile

blocked

my view 

of the ocean at sunset

this warm evening

after treating me

to join him at one of the

places

He drinks and dines

regularly.

His shades on, left elbow propped outside 

his Jeep window,

a lit cigarette in hand 

and typical

scowl on his face. 

I was the one

that broke the silence,

usually,

he broke promises,

always.

My voice cracked through the granulated air,

I'm supposed to make a list

of 100 things

I like about myself.

Turning to me 

abruptly 

he laughed heartedly

It's hard- I said humbly.

I bet, he mumbled 

awkwardly

while looking far away.

After another silence

grew thick 

My moles, I even listed them-

Name some-

thing 

you like about me?

He did not respond

Until 

taking a deep drag and

flicking his ash, 

with emphasis

I like your mole too...

In the backdrop behind him,

the horizon cast dying rays 

of violent pink and orange-gold

Truimphant

over all

marking this blissful moment 

of Beauty 

missed

by one.

Artist: Gaston Bussière (1862-1928), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

86 Proof

 My husband rolls over

onto his other hip.

His leaden arm

felling like a cut tree,

his hot deep breath

stews with Tequila

She holds her breath

trying to remain quiet

staring at the ceiling fan,

the young bartender

in our bed,

instead of sleeping by 

her young son, sacrifices

the old proud man, brutish

seems safe enough

strangely his snore

bothers her less

than the cat growling 

at her naked blistered feet

exposed.

I lie awake dreamless,

the window open, crickets, an owl,

trees readjusting their leaves,

Whispering

I am unsettled 

knowing how easily

he sleeps,

how easily his breath, 

comes and goes.

A moth trapped inside the porch light cover,

slams the sides

meets a natural death, resisting

remembering

how the attraction made him feel alive

instead of finite, fraudulent, 

inebriated, flammable

blame and denial 

she agreed with him

always.

I turn over 

thinking, warning

Be careful of open flames. 

Still life (goes on)

The canvas bled

the day we wed

all color

draining 

the ocean

as a witness 

softly eroding

the world under (our) toes

the rain holds its breath

heaven knows

white noise

soothes, 

sometimes crashing, breaking-

promises, hearts 

sharp words into mulched glass

Barefoot

I am

slipping away

and alone at the altar

Only a silhouette

before the sun

blinding me 

as the man of my dreams

Sandman, Shadowman

roll back into

the fog bank offshore

Off the shelf

broken sand dollars

lie still and stacked

unspent

only I notice the omen

among the flowers

and painted pictures and poses, 

as if 

a ring

holds on

to promises 

or runs 

thin 

and over diluted...

Only cycles remain.

I left the return

of Spring. 

He was gone,

long before

the painting

finished. 

Photo credit: me of me

Ask the Sky Why

To lie
on your back
defeated
and speak your pieces
vehemently
as rain
at the ever listening sky

You know
this broad shoulder
of horizon
can take more
than your loaded gun
and spinning
chambers
as if a game
of Russian Roulette
would elicit a thunderous
STOP!

Threats empty
as a cloudless sapphire
catching light
and glaring
in its reflection
of you.

Life at this angle
in this volume
comes back
to us
in the same way
we know
every word has been heard
before you opened your mouth
and took
it all
in
as unnoticed
breath.



Painting by Francis Job Short (1857-1945), 'Sea and Sky at Seaford' in Public domain.

I am-phibian

A line in the sky
caught my eye

the barbed hook
of crescent moon

took no time
pulling my chin up

and out
of my element

and taking my breath
outside
the warm body

weightless
I can only wait
for lightness
to break

through
a comforting zone

at terminal velocity
relevant
only to the speed of
dreams and nightmares

piercing through
this illusion

of you
waking up
or falling down
but always catching

a peek
under the surface.



Painting by Lionel Walden, 'Twilight, Evening Star and Crescent Moon' c. 1925 in Public domain.

The sun sets

The way we flock to the shoreline
for the small chance
to catch a green flash
between blinks

-is the same
as knowing the sun will set
and yet
it will only get dark.

It reminded me
of this Red Sea
swelling and sinking
between you and me
making that rosy glow
more ominous
than optimistic.

We keep a trained eye
on each other
from our respective
ground
unable to make out details
like friend or foe,

you just know
outlines
the bend of the horizon
and how the melting shadows
run together.

The way we hope
and take chances
for a ride,
reminds me
of the underlying breeze
caused by our spinning worlds
neither pushing nor pulling
but settles
for warm bodies watching
until The End.



Painting by James Richard Marquis (1833-1855), 'Man o War and buoy at sunset' in  Public domain.