To Memory

I. 

Like the moon dipped

And waned 

Her marble-heavy sails,

The sailors dismantled her

With their eyes

Like a slice of cake.

They longed to sink their teeth into

A nape of a neck so sweet;

“Little pearls,” they said,

“Atop her sails and sheets.”

She rocked in her harbor

Softly on a pale halo

By the thirsty sea,

Softly 

She fell,

Softly

As submission for the sailors

Who truly commanded

The tide. 

II.

I’m dreaming again. 

It’s god damned freezing out here, one of those stiff spring mornings where everything is frosted over- rooftops, buds on the weeping cherry trees, the neighbor’s cat- but the air feels a little flimsy, a little loose, like crystals in wedding cake frosting. I pull my thin sweater closer around my bare shoulders, like that could shut out the cold. It’s the color of soft oatmeal, and that makes me think of Ma. She loved to sprinkle cinnamon and raisins in her oatmeal while chatting with me over Columbian coffee, still in her slippers with the worn holes in the bottom and the flannel robe with the bacon grease stains. She would lightly trace the outline of her cream-colored mug while savoring the smooth taste and richness of the Columbian coffee beans she ground every morning. I would notice how the crows feet gingerly crept in upon her honey-comb irises, like the ancient crochet patterns in the doilies on our dining room table that had belonged to Nana, and wonder why a barrier as vested as muscle and intricate as lace existed between us at all. That was what she was, though, fragmenting muscle and lace. I remember thinking she was beautiful.

His brown eyes are chasing mine, but there is no breeze to catch them. I stand next to him, limitless and unyielding; my entire body is constrained against him, and even here, my bones rattle. He looks all sallow skin and protruding bone, and I wonder if I really think it has come to this: debilitated and delicate. I am sickeningly drawn to the jagged curvature of his jaw, like a thorny stem of a rose broken off carelessly and twisted. 

“Somewhere I can love you,” he murmurs. The atmosphere is static, raised on end, and staggered. I hope to God the pain does not reflect in my expression. I stand there shaking and he is still searching, poised and calm as if at any moment, he will dig his fingernails into my heart; I don’t want to see the subtlety of the sacrifice engraved into the lightless brown depths of his eyes, like a fading spoon in a bowl of warm oatmeal.

The spacious moon in the distance is orange and thinly hanging. 

Author's Note

A little something different from me.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful poem. I had to read a second time. Memories will dance in our heads. Visions of what was and what could of been are the question that haunt our dreams and life. I like the feel and the structure of this poem. Thank you for your always outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[None]

This has a beautiful diction to it, while the lyrical imagery and scenes that are used to bring unexplainabe things to mind are so perfectly interlaced, I feel like I could read this over and over again. I like how you go from a poem to prose poetry. This is so beautiful. Keep writing. It's totally you gift.

This is art in its purest form.

[Mama Topaz]

I am a fan and this piece went into my library.... just WOW!!!

[Just Jayren]

The 1st part made me really think, that could of easily been written 500 years ago and still would of work, brilliant job really classic language for 2012

[R J Askew]

I can see the marble heavy sales, great metaphore that. And I can see the 'spacious moon', all orange. There is jolt after jolt with a jolt at the end. Just as it is when we are sitting there in a netural state and our mind is working away on its own, often to our amazement. You nailed it.

[Leslie Philibert]

What I enjoyed a lot here is the structure, the traditional verse form and then a prose poem, with the two parts connected with the theme dream and memory.
Lots of nice phrases, good work.

[Ben Kaplan]

WOW! thats super good

[Allmax]

Once I read your poem I was impressed, but when I read the poetic detail in your memories Of Ma, I was blown completely away. I can only surmise that a talent this great is perhaps to say the least very very rare. You ever write a book I would be honored to read it. Thank you for sharing.... Allmax

[Chris]

Stretching is good for you. Take the time to see where and how it goes.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Very unique and creative work... the first part makes me think of how we all have a passion for something that makes life worth living, in this case sailors love for the sea... the second part was a magical exploration of love between two souls that had me entranced from beginning to end.

[Nautili]

wow....not sure I am fully understanding. You begin and end with the moon, otherwise these two works seem loosely tethered. I love how the sailors, not the moon herself, truly command the tide. Is the moon an allegory for yourself? Mysterious with powers of her own, but at times, her hold seems tenuous at best?
I love that I don't fully get it, it speaks of its complexity and depth. You continue to amaze me, especially for one so young!