Party Crasher
- weaver
Knees knock.
I walk across a cobblestone square and
enter the side gate. There is false confidence
in the tilt of my chin. My fingers play
with the latch a fraction too long.
Only the fringe below the knee
shivers to betray.
A distance, an eternity, a second?
Another square of stone and ivy –
voices, laughter, mimicking fountains
a violinist at the table next, proffering a rose.
And here I am – uninvited – in your mind’s eye
the dapple of sunlight through a canopy of trees,
or the soft moss between a cobble,
a marigold nestled on your side plate.
Unsteady, I walk like a newborn colt that has
just found its legs, the world tilts you toward me.
I have arrived like the girl in a Bogart movie,
my fingers twist cloth at the table edge
and I wish to God I could take your order, but I’m
no waitress - my tongue tied into a knot of
cherry stems.
Your eyes full of quiet surprise,
the motion of your wrist mimics a maestro
taken aback by a sudden change in tempo,
motions me to sit. Symphonic composition
dissolves into the chaos of jazz,
chill of wrought iron against thigh,
dry reed against moist lips.
And even though I don’t, I do. I know every
language for a single word although
neither one will say it. Our knees touch.
Only a shiver at the table hem betrays.
Wait
- Cyn
Beads slowly roll, fall
from the tumbler, the cracked cubes
prismatic in the afternoon sun.
And I am motionless,
the glass to my lips,
mid-poise.
Minnows waltz about my feet
in careful choreography
and I wait.
Waiting's what I’m good at.
I imagine myself the mink,
or that I am Great and Blue
and patient and true and you
will come to me.
Come to me.
Let me show you all I know:
how the skin shines with a touch,
spittle glistens on a lip,
how fingers form a perfect fit
in the hollow of a back,
when night eclipses noon.
Come to me.
Make me believe
the loon has cried
for me, forlorn,
dark form in the night.
I am undone by the sun.
I wait.
Come.
Apple
- Priscilla Barton
I watched
you eat
an apple.
You rinsed it
under water,
and dried it
with a paper
towel.
You took a knife
and peeled it,
then cut it
into quarters.
You ate
the pieces
slowly,
then tidied up
your mess.
In those
moments
while
you ate,
I stopped
loving you.
Lazarus
- pseudonym