Bonfire in Philadelphia

Matches are never enough by themselves. They always need
steady fingers and no breeze. And then
we wheeze—the smoke adopting limbs of its own and
growing around warm faces and freshly tongued beer bottles.
Blue blurs into marmalade orange and violent yellow—we are
all connected. Each flame develops fingers and toes that wiggle
upward and snap at people sitting close rolling cigarettes. The source
spits parts of itself into the black orb all around—the little orange balls
fly off and die before they land, or meet with a pair of torn corduroys or a strand of hair—receiving a startled gasp and silencing slap. The limbs replenish themselves at the base and twist their legs around each other;
unashamedly making love in the middle of our circle.

sweet and sour

I spoke to the drop of lemon about your tongue.
She said “Some things are everything they seem”,
I nodded and licked my lips. She seemed please by my
response. I watched her melt under the sun, into the sidewalk.

I approached the sugar on the rim of glass about your iris.
I told him about the browns and greens, and the reflection
of myself when you are pleased. He said, “Be enchanted by this.”
We continued our talk over cherries and limes.

So, taking the advice of dear friends, I packed my books, and socks
and heart, and moved into you.

The knights have teeth

There was a "please" in the air
and the wind-- the way it painted
and swept the floor-- and the castle
was a pink hint of weight and gold.
His eyes were serpants that kiss
and hiss, the after of glow and cheek.
We never made it to the marsh,
he lost his boot, I lost my heart.
we never found either.

The death of a salesman

My father died two days before
Christmas. There was no new snow, no
cold snap-- just dull and grey and
mixed emotions.

No one knew exactly
how to handle my mother. Her random
outbursts spraying the ham and black olives--
no one moved to get her a tissue,
we all assumed it would pass before desert.

I did cry-- once. I thought about the first
time he left, and how very similiar it was to
this... how he always knew how to damage
without touching. My sister-in-law said this
was his final jab at us-- dying around Christmas.

My oldest brother called him right before
he died. I guess he had lost his ability to speak.
My brother said he forgave him, said he loved him.
My uncle was there--he said my father's lips began
to shake and his heart rate increased. I figured
we could take that as an apology.