Poetry Reading

In my open shoulder bag,
the second dream
from my third night with you.
It is wrapped in satin taken
from the step of a tomcat on the sill in the dark.

That night,
clocks were lit and lined my book shelf like roosting dawn.
I was a caravan crossing your skin,
wearing borrowed Moroccan prayers
and dizzy as a thief after a chase.
I have grown my hair long, since then,
yet still it contains only certain birds, rising suns, water cups--
never the Saint Creolan medal you wore every day
when we were together. 

In my open shoulder bag,
there are patchouli leaves and musk.
I will read them to seventeen people from a small stage,
and describe in dunes what I felt that night--
our third, and the second dream I had
while resting in your arms; a baked curve of horizon
with heat lines rising 
like waterbirds taking flight 
from each glorious thorn of our entwined mirage.

for Karin's "April Second" prompt at Toads.


Kerry O'Connor said…
Oh hell... this is where I give up and go about my business as church warden's housekeeper.. Too much beauty for one day.

Jealous, much? they ask. Nah! I take pride in ironing the altar cloths.
Sherry Blue Sky said…
You take me breath away with your amazing imagery. I especially love "i was a caravan crossing your skin with borrowed Moroccan prayers." Wow!
Sherry Blue Sky said…
My breath. And i'm with Kerry and the altar cloths. Smiles.
Ellecee said…
Beautiful, I love it all. To have such an experience and memories carried onward, would be wonderful :-)
Gillena Cox said…
your images : a blown mind experience

much love...
Maude Lynn said…
"from the step of a tomcat"

That alone is poem enough to leave me frenzied with jealousy.
Anonymous said…
your imagery is evocative and intriguing
"there are patchouli leaves and musk.
I will read them to seventeen people from a small stage,"
annell4 said…
Yes, I loved each word! So much to love: "the tomcat in the dark, clocks were lit and lined my book shelf like roosting dawn, a cara van crossing your skin, dizzy as a thief, (I have grown my hair long - gives me a sense of time) The patchouli leaves and musk, waterbird taking flight"...a wonderful poem!
Magaly Guerrero said…
That shoulder bag most smell delicious.
Cloudia said…
Final line like a cut gem
tonispencer said…
Sigh...I am content to just hand the iron to the ironing women....and stand wait for them to complete the task.
Susie Clevenger said…
Goodness, I wish someone had written this for me. Sigh...
Outlawyer said…
Wonderful torrid imagery, easy to sense as you cal it up. Thanks much. K.
Now I feel all tingly and – like Sherry – breathless.
hedgewitch said…
A love poem as only yours can be, Shay--bright as a diamond set not in some glossy high dollar setting, but shining instead out from the dark ground of a dream where it has lain forever, waiting to be beautiful...all this and Saint Creola, too--I am swooning. :_)