I close my eyes

to feel its softness

like a cool cloth

pressing gently

upon the orbital ridge around my eyes,

the weight

at once present and absent

from lid's creases.

If I open my mouth

it will invade every crevice

available to it,

a potent reminder of its press,

a heft upon

the slim cord of air

trapped between my teeth

as i float

up to the surface.

crimson thoughts
turn themselves inside out
like clothes in the wash

i think about
the long days alone
do i wash these thoughts
like colors together
on delicate

i fear the rip and tear
of loneliness’s unremitting two step
a dance of color
of red

and i ask myself
how did crimson take hold
as the angels dance
and i bob

turned inside out

I have a penchant for sweetness
Sliding between tongue and gum
The cool kind
Not too intrusive
Carrying the fruit of some berry or another
Which slips toward me slowly
In celluloid dreams of my childhood
In sepia tints
Dotted  with the bright reds of summer fruit
Dripping down chin

With the faded blue of skies
Forgotten
In the clean slide of Kodachrome

The fading sepia
Fails to show the whiteness of my toddler hair
Or the shining black curls
Of my father’s head
As he holds me in his lap
And I turn adoring eyes in his direction
Smearing a bright red dot
On his snappy new shirt I suspect

The tint softens the memories
And sets them.
Love, a bloom
Of red promises.

I keep my disappointment in a jar beneath my tongue
and I let it roll around there sometimes
just to see what it tastes like.

Sometimes when I am feeling alone
I take it out,
check its color,
its veneer--
--bright blue lapis.

Today it slides easily
from one side to another
and a coolness seeps out--
cucumber and mint.
It isn't what I expect of disappointment really.
I had thought a bitter flavor,
or spicy,
so I could feel my anger.

Today as it slips and rolls
in its coolness
I wonder if anger will come
or will its coolness soothe~

I cry for you in those moments

when I feel your despair (my lost child),

in those moments

when fear overtakes,

overruns,

overrides

thinking--

when memories burst

through dams and walls

carefully constructed.

(I have had years of practice)

Panicked,

on fire--

flee

the death that waits

in the darkened corner

of your reptilian smile.

(You did this to me—to her)

And the pity,

the real pity--

You don’t know--

Can’t understand---

That I

(and she)

will pay forever

for your sin.

I cry for me.

copyright/all rights reserved AudreyHowitt 2012

A bit of rope
hoists dry wood,
an ark to sail through the seasons.


Dry plank kissed with snow,
you sit quietly awaiting the spring
when children will find you
and laughter abounds.
Until then, sit in the silver silence
of dusted snow,
wind caressing your gnarled wood
as you watch over wood pile beneath you.


Dizzying, the canopy of leaves sways above
as toes touch sky
leaving the ground
far below.
Sun glints off leaves
and filters the new breath of spring’s promise
as grubs burrow deeply
confessing dark secrets to succulent earth.

Wood warms to the syrup of summer sun
twisting through shady pine
the still air weighty in  
somnolent afternoon.
Pine needles blanket the scuff
where small feet have
leapt from earth,
trading fear for the promise of freedom .

Cold air bites and nips
as it pulls leaves desultorily
to ground around you.
Days shorten.
Wind sharpens.
Few attempt flight now.

A bit of rope
hoists dry wood,
an ark to sail through the seasons.

Day cools into evening.
Its long tendrils wrap into shadow
as Day lets go its hold,
submissively.
Withdraws its heat--
Moon awaits her journey yet.
And in this in-between time,
this time I love best,
with its sense of sinking down
toward ground,
of gradual slowing,
I wrap up the remains of my day
and turn on my favorite reading light,
pull open my notebook
and let pencil fly as it must--
until soul has returned to body
and the moon rises.

the harmony of discordant tunes

infiltrates mind

closed to thought

strewn against wind

in the onslaught of scattered

steely voices

attuned to this one alone

messages of self-loathing

that medication covers over

the bandage merely adequate

a stale, small blanket

wooley

euthanize thought

unapologetically strident

so that this one

can finally

sleep

dreamlessly

she wipes flour from her apron

and her heart breaks a bit more

crumbling

with each new batch of cookies

prepped and baked

(No Valentine's Day cookies this year)

With each loaf wrapped

her tears add salt to dough

the flavor of lost love

she wonders what will become of her

as butter folds itself

into flour

hiding

melting away

until nothing is left to moisten the dough

Icing glides out onto surface

slick and sweet

as she frosts

white hot anger

of betrayal

knives at the ready

she cannot touch

she fears

like little lives

torn out of a comic book

blades infused with grief

she turns back to flour, sugar, butter

and folds them

over and over again.

This circle of hope
holds out its lips
to feel the whisper of wind
sigh its name--
that name
known to the most lowly of creatures.

I turn to hold
your heart on my mouth,
where I hold
the breath of time.

Moving into the essence
of blood,
of the tear,
of heart’s incessant beat,

I know
in the small secret part of my soul
that I will speak your name forever
to the winds
and rain
and in the hall
of the end of my time.

i stand at low tide, heart receding
my toes squishing gushy sand
tiny skyscrapers rise up and fall
toes press downward
seeking purchase
i look out and see the mudflats
teaming with the small creatures of life
digging their way deeper
to find a tiny surge of water
the solace of home
a thimbleful of water
so trivial
so significant
my heart lies thirsty
as I dig down further
seeking my own surge.

Night beckons
and moon, full of restive temptation
answers fruitfully—
Incline yourself
upon the seal of my soul
and bend my ear
that I may again
hear the gentle murmurings
of earth’s heart
beat in time with my own.

O tender, tender moon
you leave the imprint
of your maidenhood
as you salve
the dry earth
your moon’s blood bestowing.

Sow your seed
in the time of new moon
and yield,
again and again
to the carpet of heaven’s door.

He lay down amidst grasses so tall
they hide his eyes from his soul.
He lay among the ants
captivated by his Herculean hair,
curls creating bridges
oily black and lustrous.
He lay down
his weighted frame
burying tender shoots below.
Aching--
He traced the paths of wren and jay
their cawing jarring muscle from frame.
Aching--
and wondered when the rain
would claim him
the water submerge his heart.
Aching, aching
a
c
h
i
n
g

I miss you baby.

Seems like I cain’t get warm no more

and winter’s a comin on soon.

I didn’t think I’d make it this far

with you gone.

I wish I could still feel

the heat of the July day

you passed.

I try.

But I cain’t no more

You’re both gone.

A’times I miss you so much

I feel like I’m gonna break

But then I look up

And still see that old dusty table

In front of me.

How many years we had that table?

Corn bread don’t taste the same off it.

Not so sweet in my mouth now.

I picked up your coveralls the other day.

I keep ‘em in that old trunk mama gave me.

They still smell like you,

your sweet sweat and tabacca

And the gin you’d sneak when you thought I wasn’t lookin’.

I needed a new blanket

but there just wasn’t enough for it.

So I took all your coveralls

And stitched ‘em--

I hope you don mind"

Into a blanket--

And covered myself in you,

So I can smell you and dream of you

Through the long winter.

The heart tells the story
of years together
punctuated
with episodes of laughter
sparkling with
the tears
of life's tiny tragedies

wrinkled with age
folded along lines unseen
for convenient transportation
in pocket
or purse

unfolded gently
in the wave
of autumn's starry heat

warped by the tears
of dusty roads
unkempt tar
and the asphalt of many miles

unbound in love
worn with care
this heart
radiant still
beats
with love and heat
found fresh in the careful glance
that tentative terrain
of love's perfect glance.

I had not intended to write this today
As the sun shines
Through waning days of autumn
I had thought to write
Or of my garden, overgrown
Or of my love for husband or daughters
But
Out of every pore
Loneliness crept out
Showing its face in decayed light
Not joy
Not even ever-defining chores
That surround and fill my day
But the loneliness
That seeps into
Crevices and bone
Making marrow of nights and days
In timely fashion
Perhaps
This was not what I asked for
Or maybe not
But nonetheless
It crowds my thoughts
And permeates my view
I am tempted to cry
The tears of resignation
But remain dry-eyed
In the face of this
My enduring legacy of fear
When I am no more
Will you have known
My secret heart
Will you have found this,
My secret notebook of dreams?

Sit now.
Feel the mist of air surround you.
Touch the wind as it moves through you.
Stroke the door of your heart and feel.
You blind me with your loveliness-
This loveliness, so quiet and still,
so unannounced.

You have surprised my heart,
my heart so languid.
You held my heart and made me feel,
nestled against the shoulder of my grief
I have found your loveliness comforting.

Come now to me.




copyright/all rights reserved A. Howitt 2011

your face
delivers its message

tears flow
between blunted dreams


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2011

Penitent weeper,
Why weep you on this dew-kissed morning
When life so justly fills every crevice.
Prostrate yourself not
Before the idols of man.
Man knows little enough
And of that,
Respects not
That which he cannot use easily
And without mercy.
Rather, dry your eyes
The better to clearly see
Stand, the better to be closer to the sun
and feel its light fill your face.
See the person who shines before you
and know who you are.

Copyright/All Rights Reserved Audrey Howitt 2011

Alone, I hold the shimmer of you
Between fingers splayed,
As they play the music of your name.

Alone, the moon washes away
The burden of distance
Within the numinous glow of the star-saturated night.

Trees, ripe with pendulous branches
Sway to the hum of temptation
And brush the waiting earth
With tremulous forethought.

And, so clothed in cloak of leaf and bark,
I turn to you
And sing the night alive.



copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2011

Summer, blowsy with spent heat,

leans eagerly against the first whispered winds of autumn.

Words of desire, of surrender culminate

as cooling begins.





Copyright/All Rights Reserved Audrey Howitt 2011