lorianne

"I miss you," she said.
"How are the kids?" he responds,
as though anyone with children had no right to be lonely.

She remembers slipping into the deep well of night,
the fluid line of hip pressed against belly,
the lavender sheet snaking up over his shoulder.
How he would sigh, and draw her hand to his chest in sleep.
She remembers staying awake all night like that,
her flesh listening to his,
remembering all they had been to one another
and all that they had not.

"I miss you too" he relents.
"The child support was late again" she blurts,
as though timely payments could purchase his pain.

He remembers that day at the lake.
He watched her paddle around on a bright yellow air mattress
oblivious to the reddening of her skin,
distracted by her laughter splashing
like cool blue rain on his face.
Later, the burn made her cry and him guilty
for the things he didn't do.

"I have to go," they both said

As they turned and walked in opposite directions
I saw their memories;
lavender, bright yellow and cool blue,
rising like mist between them.

© 2007 Lorianne Zeller

my sex was kidnapped
anesthetized
with astringent wine of time
bound and gagged by grief
deafened by siren songs
of children, choices

ransom paid, she is returned

dirty

desperate

ravenous

i wade into stark white silence
and toss ragged black breadcrumbs
into your beggared beak

you want simple answers
smooth silver fish
to slide easily down your gullet

i'm gutted, rippling
wounded vibrato
if you see me tremble
will you bite the hand that feeds?

i want to lie
but now my tongue refuses to split
i've dressed this poem in black and silver
and put feathers on its shoes

© 2007 Lorianne Zeller