My neighbors
raise their voices to each other
at their front door
on a Saturday morning.
She shuts him out.
Let me in, he says.
Lana. Lana. Lana.
He calls her name
gently, patiently
with a trace of humor
and a deep seated
carefully masked
trace of Fear.
It isn’t long
before she opens the door.
He goes inside
acting
very
calm.
As if the most precious thing he had was
not
hinged upon his graciously handling
the delicate situation.
I didn’t do any inking or writing today! Instead I bought a lot of food and brought it to my sister for her birthday.
Here’s an old, old poem. Back when rhyming came more naturally to me.
You’re always so distant
You’ve left me behind
I perceive I’m still there
In the back of your mind
I’ll be patiently latently waiting for you
To see how you’ve gone down now — just one where were two.
When you start to look back
Will you start when you see
Right behind, looking back at you, silently — me?
I met a girl at a wedding
She had a fur stole.
Though I wasn’t bothered
She rushed to apologize
Explaining that it was her grandmother’s
And more a crime not to wear it.
Found out I was a girlfriend not a wife
And said bitterly, they’re in fashion now.
She explained that she, once a wife,
Had been relegated back to girlfriend status
Topping it off with the comprehensive phrase: it’s complicated.
Then she laughed, said she was fine
But it was clear she was not fine.
Declared us friends
And promised me more details after the ceremony.
I did not seek her out.
I had a sense that once she started talking
She would not be able to stop.
I danced one song with her.
She was manic
Dancing her fierce fake happiness
Bare to all.
Three times she told me
How she tore the edge of her dress
With her stiletto
Unaware of her own repetition
Unaware that she had actually injured my toe
In her clumsy drunken ambling.
In the process of self-destructing
Unable to take ownership of the better things
She threw her stole aside.
The things she still wore
Couldn’t withstand the strain
And shredded apart
Just from being near her.
Whose friend is that, people asked me judgmentally.
I defended her the best I could
But neither did I want to to get caught up
In the wake of her desperation.
I got into my journals and copied down a few of my old poems. This is one of my oldest “keepers.” I wrote it for my friend who loved fairies. I must have been… thirteenish? …at the time, so excuse any clumsiness.
This was back when my brain was on 24/7 Lord of the Rings marathon setting. Can you tell? 😀
For Ellen
They flit through field and fen
They wantonly roll and rollick
Wings that are gossamer thin
They employ in their carefree frolick
A delicate build they bear
With faces exceedingly fair
They’re strong but lighter than air
With flowers in their hair.
They have an aire of peace,
Gaiety, innocence, love,
They do what their hearts please
Worrying they’re above.
They drink dewdrops in the morn
They suck sweet nectar from flowers
For laughter they were born
And to play away the hours.
Black widow
Goddess of her kind
Delicately explores her space
Eight times over.
Obsidian body
Sharp temper
Sharper touch
Meddle in her schemes
And risk her wrath.
When she is still
She is a pebble.
When she moves
She phases.
Gravity is her plaything.
A small jewel
Lethal.
Tread lightly ye mortals
Pray you do not draw her focus
Seeing the arachnid queen is an honor
You may survive her beauty
Only if she favors you.
Sarah D. Silvey 