JENNIFER LEY
THESE YOU SAVE FOR ME
You nose at her petal flesh
Collect her pollen with your
breath and like Persephone
she opens herself to you.
Drinks your waters deep.
Cedes what will bloom from
a warm and furrowed bed
plowed by two. Another day
passes. It passes. All things do.
By night you rise, like some
Lazarus from the fallow fields
of your marraige bed and
come for me, bearing those
long stemmed roses with
their heavy scent (and hers.)
Their small, hooked thorns.
These you save for me.
A FINE LINE
We got on at the same stop
42nd street
He was a big man
stomach round, distended
belly bare
holding a cup of coffee
a piece of lid punched out
to ward off spills
You could tell that a part of him
walked the same present as you and I
We sat down
he quite close to me
though the car was far from full
And I wished for a bit more distance
as the train lurched into motion
He didn't spill a drop
Clickety Clack
Whoosh of Wheel Sound
"Where's Barbara?" he asked
"Where'd she go?"
His voice soft, almost plaintive
No one answered
We all just sat there
exchanging furtive glances
Clickety Clack
Whoosh of Wheel Sound
"Where's Barbara?"
he asked again
his voice no louder, still soft
beseeching
And I had to wonder
where indeed had Barbara gone?
Where indeed did he think he was?
Was she merely gone from his side
or gone from his life
or gone from her own?
Clickety Clack
Whoosh of Wheel Sound
"Where's Barbara?"
he asked once more, softly
Our eyes met
And I realized
Clickety Clack
Whoosh of Wheel Sound
that at the very least
I had to answer
It would be so easy
It would cost me nothing
Perhaps an answer could lend him solace
"I don't know."
The words entered air
Clickety Clack
Whoosh of Wheel Sound
as the train pulled into my stop
and then, I too was gone from him
left to wonder
as I walked into my present
with a cup of coffee
a piece of lid punched out
to ward off spills
Where's Barbara?
When did I spill coffee on my hand?
Jennifer Ley
© 1997
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