Doubts of black and white

                                                   
                                                      Big Room, 1948, by Andrew Wyeth

i remembered how you were last summer,

green skirt hued with red plump strawberries,

your brown eyes like wine, full of promise   

in this big room, the clock had ticked slowly

like waltz on fire-wood, slow burning, clinging,

rattling the stoic windows into river storm  

we thought we are special breed, 

black and white pods against the world, 

above the bust and din of prying eyes,

prickling our skin with doubts, until our candles waned

dying slowly in this airless room,   

sepia-washed, strained of seeds and flesh 

i burn your words in the urn, black as

dry leaves gather, waiting for the winter wind

  

Posted for the The Mag:  132

Another day

                                                                                      image by Zelko Nedic



your eyes adjust
to the light and shadows of the room


keeping still, you await for instructions, 
hand gestures with terse commands      


tongue limps low in submission,  
as your eyes, dulled barren in orange pot     


how your feet long to crawl and grip the dirt
how your neck desires for unshackled green field
how your lungs ache to howl in the full moon night 


but you grind your lips tight, 
fold your angst under shiny coat, 
put on your white over-all and black boots 






at least you still have a job  



Posted for The Mag 128