A collection of spirits and magic. [Chapbook, micropoetry, ~670 words] |
Poof! the smoke clears between us, but I didn’t turn back into a frog, and you didn’t turn into an onion, because it wasn’t an illusion and there was never any spell to be broken. • • • You enchantress, you make me disappear. – Now you see me • • • So easy, isn’t it? to just turn somebody into a poem and sell them • • • My tarot only tells me about you. I think these cards are broken or detuned, or part of you is trapped inside them, making my spreads reflect your mood. • • • As if trancelike I had mustered the last hurrah of a memory, I can barely recall what it was like to be someone else— yours. • • • a yb denethgilnE Enlightened by a I taht egdelwonk knowledge that I ,wonk ot tey evah have yet to know, gnileef a yb kcurts struck by a feeling ,tlef yldrah evah I I have hardly felt, htiw gnilbmert trembling with ton erad I sdrow words I dare not ;yas say; yb nekorb broken by drah os ssentfos a a softness so hard yletelpmoc m’I I’m completely .derettahs shattered. • • • Your smallness is so gigantic in size that it constantly dwarfs me. – haiku • • • Lightning trapped inside a bottle— a lightbulb floats over my head, burnt at both ends but never dimming; never staying lit— not a halo—no neon script begging us to get a room; trying to recapture magic that we let go too soon. – staycation • • • YIKES!— I’m shocked, and I realize the lightning never left the bottle. • • • I can’t tell— is my bed a chariot on which I ride into dreams or a landing pad on which I crash into reality? • • • Every day, I kill myself like the dragon who wakes up daily to chase his tail across the sky and, bite by bite, devours the light from the horizon as he drags the sun behind him like a paper lamp. Darkness runs scatterbrained from this battle that consumes all my days, and still I light the world in my unraveling. • • • An avenue of trees, dotted octagonal with red signs: a maple switches lanes blinkerless while an oak groans to a rolling stop. • • • I feel like a plaza— scattering childrens’ voices and candy shop door chimes ‘cross cobblestone and facades— so full of other people’s hopes. • • • Oh no; there’s no fooling me— this is no type of city. It’s a graveyard dressed up for Halloween. – Camden NJ, October 31st • • • I let you carve out a warren in my chest. We could have chosen to burrow, digging chambers and caverns, but now nothing wanders those tunnels but the ghost of my heartbeat, kicking around, blind— searching. Everybody went home. The doorways are boarded up, and no whiskers peek through slanted blinds. I begged you to build a place to raise your litter with the bricks that I wrought from my ribcage. Now I’m as empty as a quarry with no granite. – For bunny • • • When I close my eyes and forget the earth, I bet I’ll always still remember you. • • • Every moment you’re not saying yes, I’m hearing “no”: it’s the words that you don’t say that frighten me the most. Every moment you’re not saying stop, I’m hearing “go”; I read between your lines to find demise outlined by ghosts. – Lisa Simpson • • • Your scent on my pillow is a friendly ghost, and he floats between sour sweat and the smell of sleeping alone. – Casper • • • Regret is a stale beer, and I’ve got the ghost of a whole keg haunting my lips. – Emma, I’m sorry • • • The past is a phantom; the future, a siren. Tomorrow keeps calling, and moments keep dying; the present arises between. • • • This girl in the bookstore is trapped in her head. Occasionally, genie-like, she mouths the ghost of a word, and I wonder: if I rubbed her face like a tarnished lamp, would her story billow from her mouth? – I dream of genie • • • I wish that Nanny’s cats had stolen some baby’s breath to breathe back in her mouth as they circle ‘round her bed, for once she bathed her children and kept the cats away, but now the cats are circling and her daughter helps her bathe. – In memoriam Ginny Scioli |