The Ghost

Lights flicker
Shadows dance
Water nearly scalding
Body in a trance
Head down
Eyes closed
A tattooed arm reaches for the sponge
Shows me what he knows
Hands
grip
porcelain
The mirror fogs
Sensory overload
A near ecstatic shock
Gasping a breath
Looking around
Flame went out
Silence is abound

The Oriental Shop

Every Tuesday afternoon, she watched him.
Nestled in the familiar corner of Juliacci's cafe,
ordering the usual tiramisu and water.
Always incognito, with a huge black hat.
The hat not big enough to hide her heart.
To the near right, a boy eager to make extra lira pounds on his drums.
The door to the shop swings open.
Heart skipping a beat, hand shaking as she delicately eats a piece of cake.
The moment has come.
She wonders what he has bought today.
Green tea? Chopsticks? Incense?
Maybe satin sheets.
She shivers.
A mere gondola hand, but the body of a smoldering god.
Rich, black hair, piercing eyes.
She is brave today, and looks up.
He is looking at her.
He nods hello and walks on.
One day she will have him.

Sailor

Thin, afraid
I slept a hole into my own hunger.
What matters is to be
tender like the language crooned to babies.
And I proceeded like a polar explorer,
to cast a line and wait at the luminous shore.
Did they remember back
and dream
the sweet meat of the mango?
So much depends
Upon
so remote a thing.
And, nothing himself, beholds
nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Music

Reality strikes with a hard punch.
Forces you into a world that's cold.
Sometimes a girl just needs to be consoled.
Hand me those headphones,
so I can find my inner soul.
Sweet, sweet, sweet melody.
I relish in the rhythm,
every break, every beat.
Instrumentals are my salvation,
they make my life complete.
Take me one step higher.
So I can touch the intangible,
reason with the insane,
make everyone's lives immaculate
and soothe their weary pain.

They shaved my hair off today.
No longer thick and long,
but short, bristly.
I run around them naked,
an atempt to prove my good health.
My breasts are gone,
I am merely a bag of bones.
There is no swing in my stride.
I muster energy to drag my feel along.
My heart leaps at the sight of a potato.
And drops with another scooping it up.
When I fall, they beat me.
Screaming obscenities in my ear.
But my thoughts are never with them.
I think back to what it felt like
being a woman.

Promenade

The orchestra plays
as they marched towards their death.
Hearts barely beating,
only smidged of pride left.
Familes separated,
their souls already emancipated.
Chopin,
Bach,
Beethoven.
Brutal men in uniform
pick the tune played on the way to the ovens.
Fathers,
Mothers,
Daughters.
Harps strum, violins play
to their tragic, unjustly slaughter.

There is a hustle and bustle in Vienna.
Women dress in gowns, men in suits.
They head off to the opera.
Art is as rich as the coffee sipped,
under umbrellas with a bit of cream.
Education and intellect have survived.
The brooding men with top hats believe
business will be revived.
Couples argue, children pick fights.
A trivial presence has still lingered.
Among the cobblestone streets,
stands a man in the shadow.
Gazing at his cirty, to see so little changed.
Looking down at his arm, he knows the clarity of truth:
the number still remains.

Oversized and Satisfied

If my thigh were a sundae, it would be
rich, vanilla ice cream,
fresh ripe strawberries.
Silky, slick peaces.
Keep the calories coming,
baby don't stop at just one scoop!
I look down,
down at the representation of my strength.
These tree trunks, these landmarks of courage.
Heads turn, eyes gape.
Take a number to get a taste
of this soft, satiny skin.
That shakes when I walk,
jiggles when I dance.
A bigger size in jeans?
More sprinkles,
Oreo crumbs,
lay on the whipped cream!
There is more of me to love.

Mother

Fingers that exulted energy
dried my streaming tears.
An innocent child,
plunging into the depths of adolescence.
Fumbling, unsure.
A voice, gentle as a Baltic Sea wave
urged to seek a different brand of truth.
Fleeing from misconceptions,
sailing past the unkown.
Assertion finally came.
It was refreshing,
like apple-mint juice on a hot day.

Insomnia

It settles over me so innocently.
Invading sleep, it crawls into my bed
And strokes my face.
Squeezes my neck.
It seeps into my pores,
Into my veins.
A veil of remorse,
Unhappiness.
It thrives on my helplessness.
As sweat clings to my back
I am without control
Nothing matters.

Lusty love

Your green peered
into my widened blue
lip trembled
hearts raced
fingers locked
heavy breath
palpable heat
craving overwhelmed
promises shattered
salty skin
legs spread
You dug right in

Hot Child in the City

I hear footsteps hit the pavement.
The light shuffle of flip flops.
The clickity clack of high heels.
Laughter dances with the wind.
An ambulance siren wails.
A homeless man’s cup jingles.
Tshh tshh tshh.
“Spare a little change?” he asks.
A car door slams, a doorbell rings.
“Delivery!”
The neighbor’s feast arrives.
Nearby a violin plays,
the melody makes me smile.
Often there’s so much, so quick, so many…
Listening brings a moment of peace.
So do the open windows.