“Stardust” If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a name I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you…
Poetry Post #22: The Song of Teachers
“The Song of Teachers” “They say if you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph” — Anonymous Here is your “Before” — before November 26th, you were taller, unbreakable, and celebrating your babies — I am one of them — But I Won’t be the Last. “Saturn” is the song of…
“Any Common Desolation”
can be enough to make you look up at the yellowed leaves of the apple tree, the few that survived the rains and frost, shot with late afternoon sun. They glow a deep orange-gold against a blue so sheer, a single bird would rip it like silk. You may have to break your heart, but…
Poetry Post #21: In Search of Yerag
In a dream, I sifted through the Dark, in search of *Yerag. Now, during the home stretch, I pray for its return. And there you all are, armed again, with your straws and pillows, stealing what once was mine. Without it, broken pots stand at my feet — they were ugly as sin,anyway. Without it,…
“Eggplant”
I loved the white moon circles and the purple halos, on a plate as the salt sweat them. The oil in the pan smoked like bad days in the Syrian desert— when a moon stayed all day— when morning was a purple elegy for the last friend seen— when the fog of the riverbank rose…
Poetry Post #20: West
This is how it happened: During your yesterday — my today — closing in on fifty-two, playing “West” on a loop. How slow time had moved for us — for me and Tuesday Anne — so, there I was, casting sheep’s eyes at the Broken Man. His blue-green had fire-tipped my ears. He was neither…
“Won’t you celebrate with me”
won’t you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life? i had no model. born in babylon both nonwhite and woman what did i see to be except myself? i made it up here on this bridge between starshine and clay, my one hand holding tight my other hand;…
Poetry Post #19: H.J.
August 20th. I’m red and gray. Twelve hours. Eight, Nine, Eleven, One, Nine. Brain swimming — muddled by cheap white wine. Yellowtail Moscato, I think. Buried so deep and again, I was untouched. My heart soared and I sighed on his breast, body unspent. I sighed, I soared because I believed it to be your…
“Souls”
When two souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the yearning to be close to the other. The presence that is felt through a hand held, a voice heard, or a smile seen. Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understandthe notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right…
Poetry Post #18: “I Stand Before Your Lips….”
I stand before your lips and tire of asking why, when I can hear the beat and feel your fire. Is it the birthday thing, watching ice, or am I just almost, not quite?
Prose, Poetry, and Coffee 