She gave me gloves.
Sapphire lets call her
I loved how she would
roll her eyes close
whenever i swore louder
or when i-
being in the mood
of being an arrogant snob
Told me to be, mean
and so vicious
But Lady Sapphire is kind as the
depth of the ocean and nice
as the sugar and spice
of a confused fangirl,
Who i believe
is precious as the rock
i name her from
the sun flickers upon his hand
and thoughts of the past flicker upon his mind
no time there is for school or band
when sadness, lies, and regrets are behind
freedom from all thoughts is his prayer
but that is not possible for now
he fears this time he can not bare
but he must trust Him somehow?
the pink gloves rest softly on the table
And the sun drifts softly across the heart unstable
Pure cane sugartar that sits on teeth,
sits on a canine porch swing
and swings too far, kicking the enamel
siding, wood knots, and greying-thin
windows. More exposed than Brad
Pitt's marriage or JonBenét Ramsay
on the cover of Old World News Daily
in the dentist's office. And there we
are. We're bleached white and burning
beneath paparazzi bulbs and a
a murder case. Brief case money/
two thousand fourteen and it's still
relevant, still useful blood money.
Novocain lightning flash; burn a tree.
Cali home tucked behind parsley
palms. Fortune teller, baby, O.J. didn't
do it. Not The Juice, not him.
The gloves. The gloves. The gloves.
Comfort of picket fence rainbrushed
paint stripping. Raymour retail
of a mocha-cushion couch half-off
'cause the back's spattered with
toothpaste and taxpayer juice
like Grandma's cancer handbag.
Put your feet up, stay a while.
My first gLove
Lost on the bus
Or In the street
Parted in the snow
My stolen gLove
Taken whilst my back
My fleeting gLove
Impaled by a stranger
In the street
On a spike
For all to see
My forgotten gLove
For too long
My worn out gLove
From years of absent
My Christmas gLove
Ill fitting but warm
For a day
My lost summer
Lost summer gLove
Didn’t make the suitcase
My gLove for life
These are the gLoves
I have loved and lost
I walk around with the seacoast
in my cuffs and the boogie woogie
under my toes with the silent song
of the fiddle and a riddle under my
tongue like a sanctuary of dust beneath
pillars of mystery and wisteria and
my pockets sewn up with guitar strings
carrying an old jug of blood and a root-
a-toot toot floating like a sad song that hides
behind the blue moonlight while I sleepwalk
in white gloves like a pallbearer whose lungs
are on fire from tugging the bodies of massacred
Africans and Natives through the backwoods
like the real tragedies of epics I wrote on a bus
bench while waiting for myself to arrive and
when I finished the heroes had all died by
the time I got there dead tired and miserable
to boot I knew I had my work cut out for me.
This house is burning straight to the ground
And all you can think about
Is that you're "cold now that all the sweaters are destroyed"
"But the embers look beautiful floating by my face."
I guess you took a few too many pills,
And I didn't take quite enough.
It wasn't the flames of justice that engulfed our house.
But it doesn't really matter.
Because that house was not a home.
A home is where I live with someone I love.
So that house was not a home.
Because I didn't love you.
I loved your hips and you tits.
I fucked you and you made me drinks when I got back from work.
I never loved you.
I started the fucking fire to get a rise out of you.
You still don't care.
At least I made you fucking shiver a little.
Like that counts for shit.
Fumbling through drawers
At that distinct, cold feel
We need to wake the hats and gloves
For the Winters sharp chill
As I try to pull on your hat
I realise how you've grown
And my heart starts to ache
Like I've never known
My little boy is growing up
And as you laugh at the size
Of the silly small hat
And the tears in my eyes
With both fear and joy
How long until
You are no longer a little boy
too large, fit for the rabbit,
slipping silk, no hand to hold,
while waving slide off.
you think they will have thought of pins
all that tapping,
makes a soul happy.
benefits are few these days,
make the most of those
that live in huts.
believe that the earth loves us.
I take off my coat and stomp the snow off my shoes.
Trip over the rug and instantly bruise.
Glance up at the stack of medical bills, next to the various bottles of pills.
Crawl into bed to drift away.
Ready to escape another horrid day.
and right when conciseness started to vanish.
There's a knock on the door,
A little Spanish girl I'd never seen before.
"Sorry, wrong house."
She says in a heavy accent.
I notice her knit gloves are frozen
On her hands, made perfectly for imprints in cement.
And I wonder
If she ever made art with her hand prints when she was a kid,
I don't know, maybe she was better than that.
But for some reason, I want her to make me one of those hand print crafts.
So I say, "But this house has a fireplace, come on in."
She steps inside and laughs.
I pull the frozen knit gloves off her tiny cold hands. and breath into them to make them warm.
My stomachs butterflies are flying in swarms.
Then she sees the the pills and asks "what are all these?"
My heart sinks
"Don't worry about it, just forget it...please"
Her eyes drop and get wide when she sees the bruise on my knee.
And for the first time she really sees me.
I know how she must feel.
getting in on the short end of a sick deal.
Or maybe she can't believe that it's real.
she just pulls up her sleeve, and shows me her wrist.
A hospital bracelet with bold type reading flight risk
I start to tell her she needs to go back.
And feel my cheek turning red from her slap
she says "I'm sorry, Just don't make me go..Nobody want's to die alone."
I don't know if it was the needy look in her eye,
Or the helplessness in her tone.
But you should know that
She didn't die alone.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn