My energy is pretty zapped right now, my thoughts consumed with what is happening to my father. I feel sad and emotional. I feel so grateful for all of the kindness I receive here, and for the amazing writing that I get to lose myself in. But, right now, I am not reading much and certainly not writing much. I feel like a stone, slowly sinking as everything goes dark. I will get through this. I will meet the challenges that face me.
In the meantime, I have the last two poems from The Furious Gazelle recorded and will share those. In advance, I am sorry to post and run.
Lurking behind the thin
stained metal of a bathroom stall,
brazen and breathing gravel,
she waits for an audience.
I open the door to a greeting
that crackles with delight,
but the smell of her misery
crowds the room.
She steps elegantly from
behind the tin curtain and
bows to her reflection in the mirror.
Her hair is tangled and covered with despair.
She is searching for a song
that died with the starlets of Ragtime.
Lips that drip fire grasp at words
falling through blisters and cracks.
Her nose seeps with determination.
She smudges blood across her teeth
with a tremoring hand, burps,
and flushes herself down the toilet.