Tanqueray

Little damage-flower,

All razor blades and roses,

Think my name

And I will be there to hold you

As smooth as the inside of a shell.

Little oriole,

In your hanging nest,

I have smuggled in a cat and some Tanqueray.

Send down the rope ladder--

Let me in.

I know

That you are beyond saving,

But let's get drunk and call the cat our familiar;

It will be magic enough for me

To be happy for a minute and not get caught.

Little smoker,

I love your flame.

Tomorrow,

There will still be water enough to walk into.

Tomorrow,

I will have to save somebody else--

Maybe even

Myself--

But tonight,

Let me kiss your cheek, your lips, your hands,

While the gin and your room and your skin

Are warm and soft and not yet gone.

___________

The Disappointed Teddy Bear

The disappointed teddy bear says,

"I was supposed to be cuddly, to sleep on a child's bed, guarding her dreams."

The unfulfilled flower pot says,

"I was supposed to bear beautiful flowers to line the garden, but instead I am upside down and stacked."

The teddy bear's heart is as heavy as the rest of him.

The flower pot's heart is full, but only with emptiness.

This is why it rains in the garden--

It is the only way they can cry.

________

Photograph by Daryl Edelstein. Once again, Daryl's photography has moved me to write a poem to go with the picture she created. Click on the title of the poem to visit her original post!

My Dream Of Sevens

I am the only one.

When I blow on the candle next to my bed,

It lights and burns.

When I pour water from the pitcher to the bowl,

It makes the morning come.

Come and kiss me,

Right now.

By the time my pen meets the page,

I'll be gone.

It's what I've tried to tell you all along--

I am a condition of atmosphere.

Mine are the lips,

Mine are the hands

That can both create and calm your gorgeous storm.

I am the Queen Bitch your demons are afraid of.

I am the sweet dream who gets up and makes you breakfast.

I am the rain off a bird's wings,

And I am the ridiculous girl who'll believe any outlandish thing

You press to my ear with your tongue.

I am all of these.

I am the one,

The only one

Who loves you this fiercely

This helplessly

This endlessly.

I am the girl with a gift, and I long to place it in your hand,

Closing your fingers around it with my own;

If only you would reach out

And let me.

_________

A Feline Fairy Tale

A cat may look at a king,

At anyone or

Anything.

Late last night and the night before,

I was here, though you did not

See me.

Little robbers at my door.

Such thievery

Pleases me.

Pussycat, Pussycat, where have you been?

Waiting under the branches from night

Until day.

I've been to London to look at the Queen.

After checking to be sure that the king

Was away.

Make a cat your confessor, tell her your sin,

You'll come barefoot through the dawn

Calling my name

A cat won't blink when you do it again.

Crying, "gato amante!

You heard and you came!"

__________

Photograph by Daryl Edelstein. Click on the title for the link!

Mrs. Icarus

For months, Icarus takes up the entire garage and driveway to build a pair of enormous wings.

He enlists the opinions of his guy friends.

Six or seven of them stand around on a Saturday afternoon, staring at Icarus' half-built contraption.

"I'd use balsa," pronounces one.

"No, your balsa wood is too light. I'd go with your teak or your cherry wood," opines another.

"Or mahogany," intones a third, and six bill caps swivel toward him scornfully. "Or not."

"Look, shithead, it's not a fuckin' flyin' desk," explains the fattest one, helpfully.

Mrs. Icarus hardly sees her husband, and when she does, he is buried under a layer of sawdust and epoxy.

She asks him, "How's it going out there?"

He says something about struts and heads to the refrigerator.

Icarus' work-in-progress merits spreads in Amateur Aviation Monthly and Cockpit.

Icarus receives advice from any number of men, all beginning with, "What you've got to do is..." or "What you've got to understand is..."

There is a lot of nodding and placing of feet firmly apart.

A lot of rather hairy arms get crossed, or reach to point out a flaw.

There is a lot of calling each other "dumb motherfucker", followed by hearty laughter.

Finally the day arrives when Icarus is ready to try the new wings he has labored so long on.

He soars, up with the birds!

He rises, closer and closer to the sun!

Then the special wax he ordered from the J.C. Whitney catalog melts and he and his wings drop like a piano in a cartoon.

"Dumb motherfucker," say his friends.

The following year, Mrs. Icarus decides to build some wings.

She works on them whenever she has a minute.

Her friends ask her if she is okay, if she is keeping busy.

"Mhm," she says, and sips her coffee.

Mrs. Icarus uses stuff she had in her sewing basket,

Some sheets that she found on sale,

And Feather-Brite from the Joanne Fabric store.

Lots of Feather-Brite.

So, one Tuesday night in June, after work, after dinner, she decides to try out her wings.

Her dog thinks this is a fine idea.

Her son says, "Don't crash. I need a ride to the mall."

Mrs. Icarus kisses them both and up she goes.

She stays up.

A dozen bill caps turn toward the sky, and their owners are finally speechless.

Their dozen wives look up and shriek and smile and wave like maniacs.

Mrs. Icarus waggles her wings at them.

Upon landing, there is laundry to fold, and a dog to be walked.

There is a child to be driven to the mall.

He lets her pull right up to the front entrance where all his friends can see. This is astonishing.

"Have fun, Daedalus," she says as he opens the passenger door.

She knows better than to try to kiss him, but he does turn around for a moment to give her a wink.

He is fourteen.

He is proud of his mom.

She pulls away from the curb smiling, happy in the knowledge of what it feels like to fly.

________

September

It turned out to be a day just like this one--

The sky that impossible September blue,

And the summer growing sleepy, as if June, July and August had been a long luxurious meal.

That morning,

You lay your clothes carefully on the wet grass of the bank,

Like a blanket over a sleeping child.

As you stepped into water and fog,

What was it you hoped to find as the chill found your ankles, your knees, your shoulders?

Why didn't I wake up?

Why didn't you come find me, and crawl in beside me, still wearing your chains and charms from the night before?

How could I not have been there when the water fanned your hair?

I could not help and will never understand.

Each year I watch the water darken these poems as I sail them across this accommodating element

To one whose heart has always been

And will always be

Twin to my own.

__________

Dear Girl

One day, you will forget about her--

The one whose voice animated your whole world.

You will no longer hear her,

Nor even listen in the hopes that you might.

Don't let anyone tell you

That every season's roses are the same.

She made you happy in summer--

You, who loves the ice,

And the long nights.

One day you will forget her

And be poorer for the forgetting.

One day you will put her behind you, and be free to do anything you like.

And then what?

Oh dear girl...

Then nothing,

Just nothing at all.

__________