Headless
I search mother’s photo album
for the man who no longer exists.
Torn-out holes sit among family
and friends beside the ocean,
at parties, on our small boat.
Those photos aren’t unlike
the way I felt after his sudden departure.
I made my way recklessly through dark days,
bumped into walls, fell often,
until one day, stone turned back to flesh
and I remembered how light once sizzled.
He warned me earlier that he was a landslide,
that he would slip out from under my feet,
become a moth seeking brighter flames.
that he would slip out from under my feet,
become a moth seeking brighter flames.
I didn’t believe him.
He was my Heathcliff, my Mr. Darcey.
Mother always said he was my road
best not taken.
I wish I could tell her
she couldn’t protect me
from natural disasters, illness,
or men leaving, that holes
didn’t erase a man’s memory
and silences didn’t quieten him.
Dreamcatcher
Heat demons rise from the sidewalk,
make faces when I dare glance
from my house, trapped in the concrete
that crushes South Florida.
Air struggles fruitlessly to move
backwards through time to wetlands
where Seminoles once roamed.
make faces when I dare glance
from my house, trapped in the concrete
that crushes South Florida.
Air struggles fruitlessly to move
backwards through time to wetlands
where Seminoles once roamed.
Part Indian, he lurks in this jungle–
my old lover, arrows jammed
into his umbrella, his briefcase,
bow, in the trunk of his car.
He sings love songs in my dreams,
bow and arrow behind him.
I cover old scars with a robe,
hold out my dreamcatcher.
my old lover, arrows jammed
into his umbrella, his briefcase,
bow, in the trunk of his car.
He sings love songs in my dreams,
bow and arrow behind him.
I cover old scars with a robe,
hold out my dreamcatcher.
He fades to black.
Pocketing God
She steals pain meds
from a friend dying of cancer,
spits out a mouthful of lies
to cover both sets of tracks.
from a friend dying of cancer,
spits out a mouthful of lies
to cover both sets of tracks.
In her over-drugged pre-Apocalyptic haze,
she finds God, pockets him
for future reference.
she finds God, pockets him
for future reference.
She looks into her mirror
past the vacant spot
where hope used to live,
shrugs, wonders if her pink
or red dress will best
fool the crowds tonight.
past the vacant spot
where hope used to live,
shrugs, wonders if her pink
or red dress will best
fool the crowds tonight.
