Sunday, December 20, 2009

Sky, Park, Air

Another free form written in church. What a heathen.

The sky hovers like spilled ink
Over the park.
His fingers tease her hand
And she grins.
They sit on the bench for hours,
Talking, planning, laughing,
Until he hears a voice
From behind a tree that whispers
Too low for her ears.
Contrite, he lowers his head
And walks away.
The air tonight numbs and pricks,
but she has nowhere else to go.

The sky burns red like licking flames
Against the park.
Another finds her standing alone
Under the magnolia tree.
Without saying a word
He kisses her long and hard
And she counts herself lucky.
They sit on the bench
For a minute or two when he says,
"Thank God for a girl like you
To make me feel happy,"
But even dogs tire of playthings;
Ennui smolders his passion.
He walks away.
The air this evening is thick
And sticks to her arms and legs,
but she has nowhere else to go.

The sky melts gray with ripe clouds
Against the park.
She clasps her hands together,
Looks out to the river
That cuts through the park,
And lets her eyes trace a single wave.
The air today swallows everything
In a dense fog,
But she has nowhere else to go.

She falls asleep on an iron bench
And wakes to find herself
Warmed by a fleece coat spread
Over her body.
She looks up at humble eyes
That match her curiousity with benevolence.
She knows him.
He sits down next to her
On the bench and says,
"Thank God for a girl of God.
Use me to show her Your love
And her worth."
She rests her head on his chest.
The air this morning is ubiquitous as always,
But she'd never know it.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Dry-Eyed Rehab

This one is a working progress... You are at a disadvantage because you are out of my crazy thought process. Forgive me if it doesn't make sense. But definately let me know either way. Thanks!

Lie down right there on the green leather sofa.
So, I hear you think you've forgotten how to cry
Or that your tears are all dried up.
I'm going to show you some images that will cure you
And release those tears that cry, "Hold, hold!"

See, the woman weeps for her only child
Whose dim-lit eyes stare past her to glory.

Or the birth a a healthy boy
Who wasnt expected to breathe longer than a few minutes.

Or this one, your friend,
Whose mother unleashes her anger that leaves physical scars.

Or here, the friend who unleashes
Her own anger, guilt, shame upon her self in the form
Of physical scars.

And this (Don't turn your head, look back this way),
of the love promised for you that he lavishes her with.

And yet, your eyes remain parched?
-[aside]This disease... is far beyond my practice.
Have the strings of her heart untied, or the stream of her tears
forgotten how to flow?-
Miss, you're bleeding There, just above your left eye.
Looks like a scratch or a paper cut...
Let me fetch you a bandage--
It's widenening-- Oh! Hold this over your head...


That's a nice looking gash you got there.
-[to nurse]She's losing blood fast-
A wound from years ago? You don't say.
How did it reopen, Dear? Come now, think hard.
Hold still, this might sting a bit.
-Cauterize the edges-
What a brave young woman you are!
You haven't shed a tear.
What's that? Don't be silly.
You can't forget how to cry.
-The skin around her eyes is too dry.
The wound will never heal itself-
Just one more thing...
-Cover it with sillicon skin-
See there, no one will ever know
that the wound was there.