Four

 

Body

The body of a nude
woman, lying in a ruined
building.  A body in
a frantic surrounding
in motionlessness.

An event continues
with a body in it.
A scene of a fallen building,
next to a sky
as back drop.
The sky casts a memory
of their unity
when the building had both
interior and exterior
strong.

She could
walk through the ruins,
and so doing, replace
the sky
with her body.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stranger

A loving woman
walks diagonally across
the sidewalk to cross.
She makes a gesture
of herself to cross, catches
my eye, and motions
to me with distant eyes – I’m someone else.
She loves me there.
She moves with
a love that won’t leave.
Yet, her atmosphere is
mine – the same grays
with sparks of light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing About Photographs

I loved you before, and I love you still.

The books I’ve read about suicide
have helped me to understand photography.

Our placemats lay
under plates of scrambled eggs
and toast with tiny chopped onions.

We pull back chairs & we sit
to eat. You
can never be a photograph

if you are inside the moment,
chair pulled back,
eggs,
sitting.
A photograph is at
like a television,
a computer screen,
a movie,
or a mother sometimes.
Look at my poem, or sit down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Cold Way

A sideways stare,
Cold to start with.
This corporate world
every inch allowed to be inhuman.
Not human is good.

Long ago in the cave
it was learned
that cold was the way
out of the house.
Fight ‘em & beat ‘em to be out there.

We’re still
awfully in the shade,
calling to other trees
for a coat. We are
shoved back
pulled forward somehow.
Tough is cool –
the rock star looks away.