the cold wind was blowing against me
it was cold
my body was ice
his fingertips running across it
as if he was melting the coldness of my body
and my body became warmer
he wrapped me in a blanket and in his embrace
he didn’t want me to get sick
i could take care of myself
i... can
if one day he wasn’t around...
i would... still survive
i could.
but i didn’t want him to even go
don’t let go of me
stay here and love me.

With every passing of a reflective surface
I look for my face in all.
Each one unrecognizable
Each one undeniably plundering me -
My image, my mind
Into a frenzy of traumatic shock
Because this person,
This person travelling in my belongings
My effects,
Seems to morph and blend in the irises of whoever is seeing me,
Of whatever Jasmin their perception manifests
From what they know
Or have been told,
About me; and

For whatever thing I may be lacking in grows numerically,
The girth swelling and expelling carelessly -
Whatever bits don't fit the Jazmynn, or the Lily, or the Gardenia me,
But I'm stuck.
I'm stuck in my own mind,
And my mind holds many eyes
Of varying colors and windows,
Some sore and some blind - (And)
As I walk I rate my reflections,
I grade on beauty and demeanor and expression
So when the following moment or day arises,
I can adopt whichever vision suits best.

At some point, I must have put Jasmine on trial,
I must have worn her at some time
And discarded her just as quickly
Because she wasn't as trendy as Lily or Gardenia
And the creatures whose eyes I'm borrowing in my mind did not allow me to keep her.
But if I (no matter the version) had known,
I would not have been able to protect her
Or preserve her,
Jasmine would not have belonged to me -
I would not have known how to convert her and her space in my world
Because hers exists only within a frame
Possessing a finite amount of eyes and windows;

But if Jasmine were looking at me
She would see the same -
Some, such reflective surface
Drunkenly distorting each portrait of what she was supposed to be;

Even still,
We would not have known to keep each other in mind.

We spread our blanket on uneven
ground, bodies embracing in descent,        
                       They lay on the boxcar floor,
                        fingers twisted, clutching slats.
Transfixed by the spell of evening,
limbs entwined, interlaced,
                        Barbed wire punctured palms
                        faces creased as in old photographs.
We stretched in dawn’s light,
poured coffee out of cups,
and left as it merged with the dust.
                         Bones upheave ground
                         unsheathed fingers  
                         clotted with soil.

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks

Last night into the room she crept,
awhilst I lay in bed and slept.
My dreams there caught on sleep’s broad reef
she breached sleep’s net, the blanket thief.

Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks

in 1992, a child is born
and handed a gift.

he opens the box labelled "life"
and examines its contents.

a blanket hand-stitched
with hope, perseverance,
and comfort

draped over a teddy bear
stuffed with fearful nightmares,
and heartache.

a blue jar labelled "sadness",
containing fluttering butterflies
symbolizing joy.

a ticket for the rollercoaster
he's finally tall enough to ride,
with no warning
of the endless ups and downs.

that two-minute rush
of adrenaline
followed by hours
of motion sickness.

this child
is now twenty six.

he is staring at the empty
box labelled "life" -

at the worn-out blanket
lying next to
the teddy bear's stuffing -

at the shards of blue glass
and butterfly corpses -

at the torn up carnival ticket.

he regrets ever accepting this gift.

- v.m

then you realize
the monsters under your bed
can’t get through your blankets
but can go inside your head

That brand
spanking
new
refrigerator,
didn’t matter at all

The home it was housed in however
was a palace to bask in

Stand it upright
hop from the bed

Crawl in aloft
put a soft blue blanket on top
sit back, watch as it captures all your thoughts

when i was little ,
dad handed me a shovel and
he handed me
a dress.

he taught me how to dress myself
and then how to garden ,

to dig each hole
in soft
           flesh and soil.  

ive grown up since,
gotten taller,
and can hold
the shovel by myself ,

so
i dig graves now instead .

ive saved one for dad ,
                               and ive saved one for me.

six feet deep ,
                        it’s a bed with no blankets
and it’s
perfect ,
and
it’s mine —

and
i want to be buried in a dress
i can button
                     all
                         by myself ,

because
dad also handed me a shotgun.

Hold me
close and
tuck me
Into bed
when I
am tired
and my
eyes are
heavy
with
sorrow,
heal
our
souls
as we
wrap
each
other
warm
In a blue
blanket
and watch
the rain,
drinking
tea and
lost in
falling
stars,
we are
all strangers
until we open
our hearts to
love, fated
silhouettes
become
one dream
come alive,
for you
are not
beside,
but rather
within
me