Tentative Futures

Greg Spalenka Divinus : Tentative Futures : You try to forgive words their push and pull. In the garden, the cherry tree has sprouted buds, each one enveloping a heartbeat. You lean against the trunk, listening to the hum under its bark, remembering what it was like to carry that same echo deep in the... Continue Reading →

Alter Ego

Rainbow in Pully, August 1, 2018   Alter Ego : I didn’t know what she was: that brittle, reed-like, human-like riddle. A paper whisper. A burn. She made an ark for a language the color of loneliness. Words rushed to her. So did the clouds. It was hard to watch her drown in the rain,... Continue Reading →

Conversation

Vincent van Gogh Rain   Conversation : It’s frivolous, this rain, with its unreasonable claims on our silence. You stalk the hallway, I crush tears in my fist. I’ve taken to rearranging books on the shelf, first alphabetically, then by the year of a writer’s death. Orphan books. I seem to love them more this... Continue Reading →

Forecast

Dominique Appia Entre les trous de la memoire / Between the Holes in the Memory : Forecast : It can always be worse: what you cling to could be a ledge over a subterranean river or a bridge tucked away in a sentence no one can read. Each memory— a shattered puzzle. It could be... Continue Reading →

Halloweening

In honor of last night's blood moon... Image courtesy of swissinfo.ch : Halloweening : I open my window for the skeleton of the night. The darkness breathes. It is dense like oil. From afar you call me again, waiting to see how soon, how close I will come, how unbearably sweet my mouth will bite... Continue Reading →

Fear

Edvard Munch The Scream :   Fear : It never goes away, it only diminishes, thins out like a bookmark you forget in one of the books you now rarely read. Then you find it while dusting one day. It springs out voluptuous, huge—this bosomy aunt who always arrives out of nowhere to stay, suitcases... Continue Reading →

Déjà vu

Nikolay Nikolayevich Ge, “What is Truth?” Christ and Pilate, 1890. Image from Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow, Russia : Déjà vu "No matter what comes into the house, a letter, today’s paper, you are convinced you have already seen it.” ~ Rosmarie Waldrop "The Almost Audible Passing of Time" : Nouns drop from their perches, seeking a less... Continue Reading →

Orchids

Image courtesy of The Orchid Column : Orchids : My nights are now full of dark coats buttoned up on emptiness. Black shoes carrying nothing walk out the door each morning. I wake up to layers of bricks around my body, each day one more layer, the cat already howling on top of my head—... Continue Reading →

Of Guilt

Blankets cover Swiss glacier in vain effort to halt icemelt Courtesy of phys.org : Of Guilt : You leave what you know. Your faithful companion follows you into the heart of the forest, where ferns obscure the light, where you fall asleep on wet ground, blind roots crawling over your legs toward your mouth. You... Continue Reading →

Wee Willie Winkie

Millicent Sowerby Wee Willie Winkie  :   Wee Willie Winkie : Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town, Upstairs and downstairs, in his nightgown. Rapping at the window, crying through the lock, “Are the children all in beds? Now it’s eight o’clock.”                          ... Continue Reading →

The Lion

Leonard Myburgh Airbrushed Lion Courtesy of lonehillart.com :   The Lion : Every angel is terrifying.                         ~ Rilke He comes in the dark, breaks doors, muscles his way through windows. His wings wrap around my heart like sin. His words run through my... Continue Reading →

Spectator

Gerard Gauci Scene from "Armide" at the Palace of Versailles Image courtesy of operaatelier.com :   Spectator : I’ll always be part of an audience— not the worst crowd to melt in, though observers are often portrayed as distant, uninvolved. I, too, am an observer. I watch the plot thicken and flare up toward denouement, and... Continue Reading →

The Photograph

Winter sky over Lausanne, Switzerland   :   The Photograph : It doesn’t matter what we should have argued about. Talking was something we couldn't or wouldn't do. We walked through a meadow instead, you slightly ahead and I taking pictures of things I wanted to remember, including that bloody sunset. The flowers parted before... Continue Reading →

A Weekend in Hades

Jacob van Swanenburg Sybil and Aeneas in the Underworld :   A Weekend in Hades : It starts with the creak of oars in murky waters, blood rising to the surface like goldfish. The weeds are wild with the hair of the dead. Small price to pay for a weekend in Hades. We get off... Continue Reading →

Rip Van Winkle

N. C. Wyeth Rip Van Winkle :   Rip Van Winkle   In the evening she sits on the couch. The sunset starts a fire around her head, like a halo. She reads and her hair streams down in black coils past her waist, past her knees. It hesitates when it reaches the floor, but... Continue Reading →

Migration

Migrating Snow Geese in Pennsylvania Photo courtesy of WabbyTwaxx via Birdshare : Migration : When the season ends, we flock South to the house of unfinished poems. Tired birds, we crowd in its rooms. Though close enough, our wings barely touch. They sweep the dust off the floor, the cobwebs off the ceiling. We have never tasted... Continue Reading →

On Solitude

Salvador Dali  Head Exploding   On Solitude   I love my solitude. It’s a presence more than an absence, a place more than a state of being. It’s home. Like a snail carrying its shell, I carry my solitude with me wherever I go. There is a door into my solitude. It has no lock. I... Continue Reading →

The Mirror

Image courtesy of kreuzberged.com : The Mirror : You lie here wide-eyed as if the icon on the wall came alive—the small hand of the woman in red robes resting on your forehead. I wish I could be happy. Tomorrow the squirm in my blood will seem insignificant. The window checkers the bedspread. Meandering sleighs of... Continue Reading →

The Road

Dan Thomsett Snow in Minster   The Road : Just above the road there was this pale hand waving at me. Dust and ashes rose in the sun, The trees seemed to be in winter. Their long, crooked limbs poked into my eyes. I stepped on patches of ice. It could have been cotton, hardened... Continue Reading →

Talcfundi

Photo courtesy of Flickr Talcfundi : Talcfundi likes to close windows. When it rains outside he shuts them tight. He keeps the sun in a bottle under his bed. This is the time he pulls out the cork. He lets his prisoner slam its body on wooden shutters. When it snows, Talcfundi shuts the windows... Continue Reading →

The Last Ferryboat

William Turner Study of Sea and Sky     The Last Ferryboat : It barged into the river headfirst. She worried how deep it was there, at the shore, how likely to survive. It was dark and crisp on the water, with a strong wind. Later, she tried to remember the color of the sky... Continue Reading →

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