Oct 20, 2012

Lonesome


She takes her child to the play ground

leans on the rusty broken gate

the lonesome mother

watches happy families – complete

she is different, she is cheated, she is

counting the years;  the incessant footsteps leading

to struggle in a long and winding road - drowning

she forces a smile and waves back at her little one.

She feels her youth seeping through her fingers

falling with every dead strand of hair.  















Oct 13, 2012

Glove



She's had so many in the past, but she loves this one.
The one she found by coincidence
The one she found when she was looking for something entirely different
The unassuming one that fits
The one she almost lost; the one that always finds its way back
Resilient strong leather; genuine caring skin
She loves how it retains the shape of her hand when she's had enough
Faithfully etching an impression of her every skin crease; waiting for her to come back





























Oct 12, 2012

In the dark


He comes to see her late at night
In the dark, his finger intense
His eyes carefully touch her everywhere
He sniffs her like a hungry dog
tells her beautiful words;
how delicious she smells

She feels
 his breath         
                   consuming her       
                                after every cigarette

Oct 7, 2012

When he




When he tells her he is going away
Her tangled old fears unravel, her sneering old doubts growl
This is when he goes - the voice whispers - this is when it all grows cold
She never did learn how to grab hold of her tether or rein her seething promiscuous self
She wants the words but her weaknesses are strong
No articulation, no eloquence, no fluency
just her crooked forced smile when she tells him she'll drive him to the air-port. 

That




That love often wore its haunting masks

That the voices were deceiving

That her hungers grew weary and her passions destructive

That when she thought she finally climbed out of her sadness; she found she was 
always at the very bottom of its empty glass

That her mending of a broken jug, her replacing of a button, her sweeping under the fridge; is but her desperate compensation for all which she cannot mend, all which she 
cannot sew together, all which she cannot clean.