Tuesday, September 28, 2010

The Old Couple

                                    The Old Couple

                        They sit together with hands folded
                        Into each other and they speak
                        In soft tones into their ears,
                        Betraying their decaying bodies.
                        She smiles, he whistles,
                        She smokes, he sings,
                        She talks, he tries to hear,
                        She sews, he jokes,
                        They’ve meshed into life together.
                        Grandparents certain, close in sight
                        To how I remember mine,
                        Even these days as they visit
                        In my dreams, surprising me
                        To ask how they can be here
                        When they both have left
                        Their home where I knew them.
                        We see the couple warm
                        At their loves bonded
                        And we touch our palms to our chests.
                        A younger man and woman pass
                        With hysterical slaps by her
                        And mistaken indifference by him,
                        Not quite balanced, I guess
                        It depends on the age.
                        They sit together as one
                        Not afraid to see the others' eyes
                        And they glow as their friends
                        And the days go bye.

White Absentia

                                                   White Absentia

                        “Face it this place is a mess, it’s got a hole in the ceiling;
                        The rain comes and washes away all the hope and the feeling.”
                                                                                                -Taime Downe

                                    The train hopped and my tracks stopped
                                    And I bled upon my rosary
                                    Giving grace and snubbing fate
                                    And blinded in my fury
                                    ‘Til I stop.

                                    No slowing, no brakes, no collision
                                    Which spills into the drunken dawn,
                                    Only a halt.
                                    To cease the wheels’ motion,
                                    To pause the speed essence,
                                    To focus on the blood
                                    Clotting unpleasant
                                    Between the beads
                                    And weakening the string
                                    ‘Til it breaks.

                                    Sprinkled through the air,
                                    The prayers sound like marbles
                                    On the tiled kitchen floor
                                    Batted about when the cat yawns
                                    And rolls over and back,
                                    Paws extended in stretch.
                                    Deep sighs wake it
                                    As the crucifix lands on its nose,
                                    Startled into stupor
                                    ‘Til the shock

                                    Settles in without asking
                                    Or answering requests from night-
                                    Light hidden nightdreams.
                                    Peaceful sleep relaxes muscles
                                    In the eyes allowing them to roam
                                    The face of God carelessly,
                                    Against the rigidity of his wake-
                                    Fully obscene labors. Greedy vision
                                    ‘Til red covers

                                    The scope of it all
                                    In layers and days of paint
                                    Shielding the windows
                                    And trapping the blackness
                                    Within the walls.
                                    Fear forces rodents through mazes
                                    Mapped from my twisted beaded string,
                                    And my arms and my legs
                                    Move anxious for release
                                    ‘Til the absence sets.

Monday, September 20, 2010

The First Kiss

She took his hand and looked into his face, searching for an answer to her unasked question. Her fingers traced her thoughts upon his palm, each line ending with a question mark. She paused all motion, all breath, and opened her mouth slightly to begin a word but no sound escaped.