So
Many Layers of Gray
Curse me, my thumb bleeds—silver roadside thistle, gone to needle,
pricks a
warning—I didn’t heed its message from
death.
I didn’t think of prophesy. I didn’t know the rickety door
to this world would bring me maturity.
I didn’t think of prophesy. I didn’t know the rickety door
to this world would bring me maturity.
What else will be
mine before sundown?
I stand toothless— my thumb soaks
in my mouth’s comfort.
I stand toothless— my thumb soaks
in my mouth’s comfort.
I think god knows
how this ends—
disheveled—dragging an arm through
a discarded winter coat— I turn
blank face to the countryside burning
in autumn’s fire & think I’m the window
washer’s widow.
I haven’t seen
clearly for a year, living
disheveled—dragging an arm through
a discarded winter coat— I turn
blank face to the countryside burning
in autumn’s fire & think I’m the window
washer’s widow.
in the dark city
of my head.
M.J.Iuppa
What
You Left Behind
To buy a potted
ficus with good intentions,
then leave it happy-go-lucky in a corner of
the living room was hasty.
then leave it happy-go-lucky in a corner of
the living room was hasty.
A month of
Mondays, you overlooked
that bit of green languishing in forced
heat— its leaves nearly transparent
that bit of green languishing in forced
heat— its leaves nearly transparent
in an illusion
of itself. You squirmed, seeing
what you had done in the perfect art of
forgetting.
what you had done in the perfect art of
forgetting.
The new tenant
threw it away.
M.J.Iuppa
Brief
Bio:
No comments:
Post a Comment