Love Story in Six Parts
1. Long Night
Damp skin to damp skin
she rocks gently
to the hum of the kitchen
the flutter of night birds.
His tiny hand wraps round her finger.
For now they are safe.
She prays for a long night.
2. The Kiss
Her heart is full of grief.
Her heart is broken.
The pain runs out the bottom.
Love flows in the top
runs out the bottom.
They let her dress him.
She touches his face, his body
checks to see
if he was taking care
of himself.
He’s not skinny.
She feels better.
She kisses his feet.
Like the day he was born.
3. Waiting
A menagerie of glass
misfits
throwaways
a hummingbird with no feet
an apple with no stem
an angel with only one wing.
He sees past the missing parts
the sharp dangerous edges
scoops them up
gives them sanctuary
in the small drab room
where his dreams struggle to survive.
They crouch on shelves
hide in drawers
wait in boxes
to be discovered by someone else
a new savior
who can find beauty
where others see
only trash.
4. April’s Sorrow
Wind whips against windows
rattles the glass
whistles up drain spouts.
Trees bend
flick roof tops with bare limbs
unburden themselves
of the last dry leaves
prepare for spring rebirth.
April’s sorrow,
an unwanted but expected guest,
slips quietly into the room
sits in the corner of her heart.
She presses fingertips
to the cool glass
prays for a cleansing wind
to lift the dead foliage
of guilt and regret.
5. What She Saves
Each harsh word.
Each time she made a selfish choice.
Midday calls from the school,
late-night calls from the police.
Relief when he leaves;
grief, emptiness
when he is gone.
He lives a life without rules
but with consequences.
She waits for visiting hours to begin
endures the silence
1. Long Night
Damp skin to damp skin
she rocks gently
to the hum of the kitchen
the flutter of night birds.
His tiny hand wraps round her finger.
For now they are safe.
She prays for a long night.
2. The Kiss
Her heart is full of grief.
Her heart is broken.
The pain runs out the bottom.
Love flows in the top
runs out the bottom.
They let her dress him.
She touches his face, his body
checks to see
if he was taking care
of himself.
He’s not skinny.
She feels better.
She kisses his feet.
Like the day he was born.
3. Waiting
A menagerie of glass
misfits
throwaways
a hummingbird with no feet
an apple with no stem
an angel with only one wing.
He sees past the missing parts
the sharp dangerous edges
scoops them up
gives them sanctuary
in the small drab room
where his dreams struggle to survive.
They crouch on shelves
hide in drawers
wait in boxes
to be discovered by someone else
a new savior
who can find beauty
where others see
only trash.
4. April’s Sorrow
Wind whips against windows
rattles the glass
whistles up drain spouts.
Trees bend
flick roof tops with bare limbs
unburden themselves
of the last dry leaves
prepare for spring rebirth.
April’s sorrow,
an unwanted but expected guest,
slips quietly into the room
sits in the corner of her heart.
She presses fingertips
to the cool glass
prays for a cleansing wind
to lift the dead foliage
of guilt and regret.
5. What She Saves
Each harsh word.
Each time she made a selfish choice.
Midday calls from the school,
late-night calls from the police.
Relief when he leaves;
grief, emptiness
when he is gone.
He lives a life without rules
but with consequences.
She waits for visiting hours to begin
endures the silence
when family news is exhausted.
Later he refuses even phone calls.
She waits
hopeless
sees the future,
is not prepared when it arrives.
She saves it all in a small box,
buries it
in the back yard
in an unmarked grave.
Starts a new box for
other things she needs to save.
6. Dia de los Muertos
Borrowing the custom from her neighbors
she builds an altar
covers it with photographs
birthday cards, his favorite book,
homemade calaveras and sugar skulls.
She reads that in Oaxaca those who
leave this world con violencia
return early, October 28th
perhaps to leave space for gentler
spirits who arrive on All Souls Day.
She buries herself in mindless work
glasses of tequila
tears
until well after midnight.
The altar sits dark.
November 1st
tissue paper flowers, papel picado
flutter in the draft of burning candles
lifting another layer of grief.
Later he refuses even phone calls.
She waits
hopeless
sees the future,
is not prepared when it arrives.
She saves it all in a small box,
buries it
in the back yard
in an unmarked grave.
Starts a new box for
other things she needs to save.
6. Dia de los Muertos
Borrowing the custom from her neighbors
she builds an altar
covers it with photographs
birthday cards, his favorite book,
homemade calaveras and sugar skulls.
She reads that in Oaxaca those who
leave this world con violencia
return early, October 28th
perhaps to leave space for gentler
spirits who arrive on All Souls Day.
She buries herself in mindless work
glasses of tequila
tears
until well after midnight.
The altar sits dark.
November 1st
tissue paper flowers, papel picado
flutter in the draft of burning candles
lifting another layer of grief.
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