We take a shortcut
through the narrow walkways
of the old village

across the cobblestones
and by the white-washed tabby wall

to the waterside where slave ships
once plied their trade

My dog lingers nose down
as if each stone has a story to tell

and ***** an ear to the wall
where the auctions were held

She looks at people differently now.

it isn't all black and white
the choke-hold of history

shades of red and brown
paint the scenery, too

the documented imagery
forgotten in the fray

a little big horn playing mournful
songs as the cavalry marches on
to the tune of galleons and guns


no passport required
when the port was young

émigré and immigrant
displacing native sons

who also once were pilgrims
breathing in the sun.

Tap tap tap
Goes the foot of the anxious teen
Her eyes are blurry
She sits quietly observing
Her peers spew wild nonsense
All she wishes is to sit in a field
With the sticky moist grass
Her hair stuck to the nape
Of her neck, slick with sweat
She feels it bead down her back
She wants nothing more than the
Feeling of the earth under her
The musical thumping of a hare's foot
And the humming of a near by bee
She feels herself falling under all of it
She falls out of her chair
She falls through the tiles
She falls though the center of the earth
She finds herself on the floor
Of the classroom
Silly girl, falling asleep during a lecture

She needs things
neat and proper
neat and proper
Why he wonders?
from behind his ears
He hears
a small voice whisper
She does what she does
to feel better
to feel something
to escape the fears
she's haunting
because she does in fact,
feel nothing
and has grown comfortable of that fact.
she needs to stop searching
she needs to clean up her act
its fractured
its broken

my friends, my friends
we are birds on power lines
huddled for warmth
specks against the grey
surrounded by the late october gloom
and the steam rising up from the gutters
we are restless and sour
eyes pointing outward
-
every step
every teensy, solitary step
sealed with egg shell footprints
womb nostalgia
tenderness found in autumn colored flashes,
moth-wick sparkles, and fried dandelion blossoms
we remember our grandmas’ knuckles,
chipped tiles on the kitchen floor
-
my dear, my dear
we are stray brown tabbies
bellowing rumble, ears stripped of fur
settled into our corner of the front porch
once we were roustabouts;
waltzing to the waxing and wane
carpeted floors gave way to concrete chill
but now the summers seem longer
-
the smell of cardboard,
cinder block walls, and duck pond water
stale memories with naked omens
we turn to face the chilling draft;
tomorrow
harping on and on about grey areas
while we kick up alley gravel
balanced by surface tension
-
under quilts counting freckles
plasma paychecks peddling uphill

your boot was turned the wrong way
on the post out by the highway
- sharp toe pointing to the south
away from where you've been

you're no stranger to the rangers
living dangerously on the edge
- sidewinders in the sagebrush
whispering to the wind

the anasazi built this home
stacking stone one by one
- far above the canyon
of petroglyphs and wrens

i knew i'd find you by the fire
talking to the ghosts of smoke and drum
- in the ruins above the dunes
reminiscing with your friends

- reminiscing, reminiscing
on the blue mesa.

r ~ 11/6/14

Your eyes-
coal black fire
mirrors of my desire

Your mouth-
warm bath of oaths
bespoken for

Your *******-
rouged red-bullet tipped
honeysuckled bliss

Those hips-my reins
move you the way
I need you most

and your kiss-
like a hiss from a dip
of a branding iron

burn me with your lips
and make me yours-
ride me into the abyss

-of sighs.

r ~ 9/25/14