Lost Places

 

Yesterday’s mouth is still open

Bird waiting for a worm

All aberrations forgotten and made nearly normal

By one gene more

The chill creeps along the bottom curtain

Thief looking for an opening

Already her bones throw off a yellow light

Too little are the impact of words, well intentioned

Having never learned the meaning of flight

She sits itchy inside her feathered kingdom

Gnawing her nails, letting her cuticles become that pink

Jagged edge that speaks of overwork and stress

She pens lists

The double-banded argus, the Javanese lapwing, the slender-billed curlew

All the while

Dreaming of mountains, staring at alpine snow

The sand growing tall along her calves, over her hips,

Kissing her navel

Time is a harsh lover

We grow covered, an Abu Simbel

That must be rediscovered

What surrounds you now?

How are you yet collared?

The mirror says nothing

It is all reflection without showing anything at all

We know without having ever been told

That the lines we drew in our childhood

Will always have that restraining hold

Gender qualified

Diogenes was a man

So really how could he have qualified the idea of honor

over advantage  

Such maternal instincts are only possible like that

When sitting high inside the hanging gardens

Structured and safe

Not within this

Stop light yellowed blinking group of

Days that will have to be passed

Poised curbside

For the change that grows within

Not knowing if the time allowed

Will be enough for the body to find agreement

With its soul

 

Reviews

[RHEA CROSLEY]

Very insightful penetrations of the soul. This is an intense real write of the heart that knows to well the pain of emotional scaring. I understand some of this pain because my wife-lover died last December. Thanks for sharing your very artistic and revealing poetry.