She buys a torn and faded map
All the continents are misshapen
The rivers smudged.Her faith is
inexhaustible. So here I am,
the bridge she will never cross.

The cataratic mapmaker rubbing his
eyes knowing only one route.

I stand on the other side
watch her put on a mask
so we will know exactly

how she feels, watch
her turn away
with map in hand

watch her
as she gets
smaller
and smaller.

I am on the otherside,
sitting on a chair,
in an empty room

in an abandoned house,
the windows have been boarded shut.

With my finger I erase
the ring of water
left behind by her glass.

It is true that I loved

her.  I am gaunt
and my ribs are showing.


copyright c.a. leibow 2007
Published in Rat Fink Review

saturday noon, we sit on solitary metal plates,
i see tomorrow’s windows through your wise old eyes
overlooking grey skies, the monotonicity of life,
“everyone wakes up, works, and sleeps at the same time..."

your voice trails off as the train taking our rest arrives.

soap and water
          dishes
          laundry
          or shower

brick from mortar
boys against girls

urban velvet smog
city vapors clog

this train -- there is a line
        beginners
        quitters

this parking lot -- there is a line
        shoppers
        influencers

open bar pharmacy, bottled water

                  no pity
                  no guarantees

dragon chasers
chin music
        
          lapsed short term memory loss

opening mail for grandmother
                the obituaries
                that ****** fly

a discussion among men
about a woman's voice
           come sit and listen

one last cigarette couple
walking home through the park
               driving alone in the dark
                             on the heels of
                             a reflection
                             of Christ
                             or an hourglass
                             in remission

them or not them
       just arrived
       just married
too many stairs
not enough elevators
worry about it later

them, definitely them
sharing beds
      under the leotard
      under the candlelight

a helping hand
finely manicured fingers
one stationary
        then two in missionary

word upon words need aspirin
            orchestrate
            headache
                            pillow is the threshold
                            tomorrow...soap and water

In the city there are many doors
that are open at night
to being awake
experiencing something together
across the threshold
no longer being an outsider

In the city there are many sidewalks
where people stand
and explore distant areas
with flexible words
questions and mental leaps
to become familiar with them

In the city there are many gardens
where children play, birds
whistle and all year round, flowers
attract bees and people
to come and feast
on the nectar of the day

a twisted stomach
chemical nervousness
this city heave     dawning

In the big city,

one person's ceiling is an-


other person's floor.

The citizens talk

down the lime trees: they're dripping --


honey every year.

Roads stretch for miles,
The city lights seem lonely
and 27 like an ominous number

I search my head for answers,
Though thoughts about age and time
seem pointless

I wonder what the stars think of their mortality,
Does it also seem like a short time?
Is someone also stealing their time?
Does it feel like a rush?
Do they also feel small?
Can their gigantic heat generate as much joy as it illudes us to?

There is no point in wondering
Yet wondering puts my mind to ease...

....I wonder why