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Forty years ago
She wrote me a note
Insubstantial
But ending preciously…

‘only yours’

In fountain ink
On a scrap paper
Written surreptitiously
But passionately
On a break period
Delivered through a common friend
And there wasn’t enough privacy
So it seemed
To read it alone
And not enough strength
To unfold that first call
Till the eyes
In youth’s first thirst
Spread it
In the stolen reflection
Of streetlight
In trembling hands
Barest words
Yet infinitely precious…

‘only yours’

She couldn’t be
For she was
Destined to be someone else’s
And leave me nothing
But her everything
In those two words
Time couldn’t stale…

‘only yours’

She
Possibly now a grandma
With everything
For she left me nothing
But two innocuous words
Barest infinite
Her everything
Mine too…

‘only yours’.
 Oct 2013 Yolanda Smith
Brandi
The roof is leaking.
You hear each drop of water hit the ***.

In the room distant you here a girl crying,
but you don't understand why.

What the hell is wrong with her?
She must be nuts like the rest of the family.

You venture into her room and peak around the corner.
She has a piece of broken glass in her hand,
And she is scratching her arm.

Drawing blood.

Her baby brother is in the other room, crying.

Her parent's are in the basement, partying.

*It ***** when you have to grow up so fast, when you are only so young.
Squank where did you go

I'm right here jesskimo

Where did we go

No one shall ever know

We run down the street with our hands up high

We don't care we just want to fly

Don"t think about it for too long

All we want is to get along
 Oct 2013 Yolanda Smith
Andrea
A friend asked me how I always managed to stay so happy
                    And my immediate thought was 'they think I'm happy?'

So I start to think how I can be so depressed
               Yet appear so happy
While pondering this misconception
           My thoughts stumble and stutter to a stop
                                         I seem to have a road block in my mind
                                urging me to turn around and never look back
                      So obviously I surge forward and find
            A wall that I have built in my head that is clearly labeled
"THINGS TO PRETEND AREN'T HAPPENING: BEWARE"
       This strikes my interest even more.

So I step forward....

As soon as I near the wall it starts to rumble and shake
I reach forward and lay a hand on the wall
                           The stones
                                   start
                                               to
                              fall
                         And the sturdy wall
                         Starts
                                                   to
                           Crumble

and the memories surge forward
A tidal wave of suppressed stress, and pain

Is this what it's like to drown?

How much of my life don't I remember?
How much of those forgotten things can I actually handle?

Is this what it's like to drown?

These memories range from minor to major
And I have no time to sort through them
As they continue to assault me
I can't breathe

Is this what it's like to drown?

I hear a voice say 'hey are you okay? You don't have to answer me.'

I look at my friend who asked such a simple question
      and received such a complex response
             and manage to gasp out

'This is what it's like to drown'
 Oct 2013 Yolanda Smith
Chuck
When the day is dark, sleep, blink, read poetry - breathe!
Swelling squalls of erectile tissue
encountering memories of you

wickering through me like a swish of ink making it's way across paper
your prose has made it's way into my soul and winnows it,
it blossoms as a caress
from your wife...

©Caro Polhamus 2013.  All Rights Reserved.
I never noticed,
turned away my face,
in your eyes
has survived a place.

The rain has dried up,
they are now arid,
love's seed is lost in ****.

But it's there,
in your eyes one last place
holding the relics of the world's loveliness!
 Aug 2013 Yolanda Smith
M Clement
I remember that day specifically;
How could I forget it?

The day my wife passed.
Or left.
I consider it the same.

It was July of 2003, and
the 17th day of said month.
She looked at me bewildered.
As women are oft to do when they don't understand me.
She said something that I only
remember as incoherent.
For I was elsewhere.

She had stated something
about my lack of work.
While it's true,
I had not seen my cubicle in weeks,
I had more important matters in which to attend.
She lacked understanding,
compassion,
love.

And as she reached for the piece in which I was staring at,
Threatening to tear it up,
To burn it,
I lashed out in such anger that I ne'er knew was possible.
I screamed
as through force, I knocked her down.
I threatened to tear her up,
to burn her.
And with wide eyes filling with tears,
She left me alone
Alone in the house
Staring silently at the deer head
and the body of a businessman

That my father had left me
When he left me

The inheritance of the deer head and the body of a businessman.
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