The day growing lazy,
yearning to pull its shades
across the beckoning twilght
Its silver haze imbued
with a tinge of grapefruit hues
just at the hem
of the remaining day's garment
Ombre in graduated form
Twilight evokes tranquility;
a time of reflection,
calming pensive moodiness
We sat outside, the two of us
in this evening's breeze
I say breeze;
it was more like a soft teasing kiss;
seductive, gentle, and comforting
I sat in a lotus pose
His child, his only child,
sweet and affectionate,
reclined lazily at my feet
Her energy, her spirit
as sweet as golden honey,
like her fur
Still in my posture,
she mimicked my state
The Northern Star began to wink
like an S.O.S. - perhaps God's message
Talk my child, talk, I will listen
I wanted to talk, to wring my worries,
to salve my hurt;
here beneath the southern pines
in which the slightest winds
played the leaves in dulcet scales
with symphonic finesse
Her sweet brown eyes met mine
as if to say you're not crazy,
just human
Her master's friend
doesn't know me,
but she boldly declared,
"Keep that bitch away from her.
She will kill her!"
I ruminate over this remark,
trying to shove it down
where the excrement of life resides
Across the far horizon
fly the black birds
Ravens perhaps,
but one missing in formation;
for she sits before me
squawking judgement
while a cross dangles from her wing
I was six, shy, timid, and scared
Lenny was my heart,
even when his heart
and his brains were
splattered across my gingham dress
My soul murdered with a shovel of evil
Scattered membranes
like gobs of red/yellow goo
clung to my flesh like ticks
He, this brut-
my Mother's needed husband,
rotund and red-faced
aglow with evil satisfaction
His big toothy grin spoke,
"Clean it up... and the garden too!"
With little hands and dry tears, I did
He slaughtered innocence that day
My heart was interred with Lenny
and memories chiseled
in a non-existent headstone
All creatures great and small
are held there, not too close,
not too far
My spirit pounds beneath the earth
pulsating, a throbbing ache in my temporal lobe
The dusk has given its charge
to the black-velvet texture of the night
The Northern Star twinkles brighter
I rise from my position, take a deep breath
and exhale,
along with the long held rush of tears
in which those unfounded words
ripped a festuring wound
My sweet friend rises to my hips,
licks my hands wet with tears
I think God listens
My mood wrung,
wrung from a day's clutch
|
