Emilie Sagee's Complaint

I was framed.
I don't care what fifty people said--
that I marched right up to the pulpit and kissed the priest;
then laid one on the nun as well.

I skipped Mass that day and took a nap.
Why do people lie?
Besides, no twin would bother 
aping one so very dull as I. 
_________

for flash 55. 

 

While Pouring Coffee

I am ten crows, twenty-three starlings,
one tree, a world of racket, every dusk that ever was.

I am a holy heart four angels defend,
other times I am nothing but flesh and fingertips.

There are four seasons, three necessities,
two sides to the moon.

The window has eight panes;
I am in them all.
_______

A double 55 for Real Toads. 55 words, and the numbers in the poem add up to 55.
 

trash trees

my yard is thick with what they call
trash trees--
mulberry, ficus and others I don't know the name for.
I love them ferociously,
as a mother does.

my companion is what they call
a mill dog from the pet store--
he'd never been out of a cage before,
and space astounded him.
I love him fiercely,
as a mother does.

I used to think
that I might meet somebody--
maybe by Christmas,
or in the spring time.
I used to think that I would not always carry this weight,
me and Sisyphus
idle and laughing by the road side.

Passion is the acid that eats me alive,
but I go up so gorgeously--
poet with her trash trees and her mill dog, beloved.
I've given up on finding anybody that's free to be found,
but I have come to love sleep--
where someone, maybe God,
holds me in a moment of respite and tells me I am worth something,
as a mother does.
_________

for the Real Toads mini challenge: passion.

face

if you see my face some time
on another woman
when you have her in your arms and her smile pleases you,

if that face fits your bed,
your breast,
your dreams,

remember, she is a thief.
while i masquerade in the streets, wearing old leaves,
that woman has my face
and your love
because of it.

if you see me some time
walking in the autumn,
staring at a blue sky stranger in the surface of the canal,

i will be alone,
always,
without remedy,

in love with you, and your beauty, as evening comes
and you put your arm around the imposter,
under the pretty, lit globe of a light by the walk--

it will illuminate

what was rightfully mine,
but never had the simple grace
to find me.
__________ 

The Winter One

In the heart of Winter,
No one came near;
What choice did I have, but to
Summon you, dear?

Black are the branches,
Black are the crows;
What heart could survive by
Loving those?

In the heart of Springtime,
When my Winter One slept,
I rocked by the streamside
And bitterly wept.
_____

a triptych for Kerry's challenge at Real Toads

Admission

You asked me for a song,
My googly-eyed little lamblet;
In the dying hours of a dying day,
You asked me for life, for music,
For some bright trifle to stay despair.

Could I be mother to all of that?
Fuckinay, Bo Peep,
To all of that and more.

I give you credit.
You didn't resort to the old roundhouse
And try to beat it out of me
As so many have before,
Pressing "sorry" to my bruises like a beefsteak
While promising never, ever, to do it again.

They were Catholics, my lovers,
All in an access of crossing themselves,
Particularly their fingers
Behind their suspendered backs--
And that was the women.

So, a tune you wish,
A tune you shall have.
Let me rosin my bow with the ground bones of Pharaohs.
This wood comes from Italy;
My remarkable fingers from my Gypsy aunts.
My skirts are Parisian,
And my smile that you love so well?
That came from seven devils, dead lo these seven years.

Sit.
You may use my lavender-colored fainting couch.
Recline, like a lime in gin.
Drape my burnt rose scarf over the Tiffany lamp.
Close your eyes.

You asked me for a song,
In the dying hours of a dying day;
For life, for music,
For some bright trifle to stay despair--
Let it be my love, for I do love you,
Despite my gloomy black gloves
And the way I flinch, like a tethered bird,
With every honest note I dare to play.
_______


linked to Real Toads open link Monday

Beep Beep

Caroline loved Megan.
Loved her olive skin.
Loved her in her suede boots, coming in the door.
Loved her, next to her, sleeping.

Caroline loved Megan, but,
Megan's crafts turned cruel.
Who knew that the big wind would come?
Who knew that knitting needles, left out,
Could become arrows?

In the emergency room,
A young intern who had been on duty since Tuesday
Laughed, because
Caroline looked like Wile E. Coyote
With a knitting needle through her head;
But Wile E. Coyote
Never looked so terribly confused, and lost.

After the accident,
Caroline changed.
She began to dream of stars, like children make,
With points.
She began to see the world like an old tv
With horizontal lines rising, rising, rising,
And she sees the flag, with its stripes
Promptly at 2 a.m.
Every night.

Caroline asks Megan,
"Take me to the salt flats."
There,
Megan holds her hand,
With silent tears running down her dusky cheeks.

Once, Caroline loved Megan,
But now she can't remember.
A little blank,
She looks around.
Another storm could come, you know.

Caroline smiles her weird vacant smile,
The one that Megan can hardly bear.
"Beep beep," she says,
Looking at the sky.
As Megan turns away, she says it again,
Like a broken blonde doll.
"Beep beep,"
But she can never catch up with herself,
Or the teasing after-image of contentment
In the foggy broken clock of her mind.

______


for OLN 8