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Soot

The train departing
clanks louder
than the sweet ring of imaginary bells
in our west side slum.
You'll forget me.

I'm a chair whittled down
to the slats.
Rummage, unmatched and sagging
by the flat parsons
table we set

tossed out with the bags
off the fire escape stairs.
The only way out.

Use me as kindling,
pile my bones and burn grey
so your train will follow the sky
and you won't forget me.



Chest Pains

This is no metaphor.
Really.
My heart is broken.
No bypass or pill
can repair
what loving you has done,
what strength of heart
has given way
to such weakness.

What was just muscle
and its quiet beat of discontent
always mindful of the missing breath,
hollowed at your blows.

Don't crack my ribs to save me,
slip the bitter nitro under my tongue.
I'll give in to the pain
not of my hearts skipped beat
but of the flat line in between.



Repentance

I wish you could have witnessed
a voice above the shofar
remembered like a kiss,
not the last
wretched spectacle.

If I could have
recognized your final turn
as goodbye
I would have pleaded
for something less bitter.
Apples dipped in honey.
I'll leave now
and sigh.

You will fast
on Yom Kippur this year and bring
not one of my tears
to your lips.
Will I always feel this hungry?

I pray for the day
when this great pain
will not bury me like sand
in Diaspora
and I won't crawl the desert floor
like you did when you loved me.



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Biographical sketch: Artist, redhead mom.

red recommends:

"Poetry loves Poetry" - An anthology of Los angeles Poets by Bill Mohr
Reason: An old Anothology but full of great stuff. Authentic voices that last.

Recommendations for writers:

Write what you mean in a fresh and unique way.



 


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