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2010.03.07 09:10:59

fbreisbl

Not gonna repost them all, but, to make up for it, here's TWO poems. :) enjoy.

 

Side-Step

 

She waited until she knew, when the cracks

on the rope bridge no longer scared her, each foot

taking a cautious side-step to the next block of wood.

Then, it seemed like a trial, the grip always a bit slippery,

the timing and the cadence of each word, unsure,

misguided by a lawyers modest interpretation.

 

Then, falling seemed out of the frame.

Each still image predictable and conducted as

clouds dictating rain. She was

only a bystander, an admirer of the water’s edge,

the foam lapping at her converse, but remaining

far enough away in case of a passing flood.

 

So she takes a breath, lets the shade collapse,

as she makes her way over the

watery depths. Superstitious, so

she crosses her middle over her index in ritual.

Leap like a tiger, so sufficient, so secure, to the

opposite bank, the side where grass grows anew.

 

 

 

Falling Confetti

 

Like a celebration, the confetti of faces, voices, smiles

follows me, fusing to the bottom of my slightly laced shoes.

And the moment I slip them off,

the reminder ceases to tick in my mind

of the ones that have stuck, or have been, or should have been.

The party is desolate now, a table for one, but

a meal designed for two.  One set of silverware untouched,

one chair remaining tucked in.  My fork clangs against my plate

with the surrounding silence for company.

 

The after-party cleanup is always the worst,

always scattered red cups and particles of food.

Always the lost items that flip the reminding switch

of the attendees at past events, or those that will

arrive promptly at future ones. But the garbage bags are filled

to the steams, stuffed tighter than a plush bear, and ready for service.

The solution removes any spots and stains from

the apparent surfaces; no bruises, cuts,

or spills to speak of.

 

And in the end,

the room is circular, the chairs spinning and empty

I claim my throne as I rule sovereign in this state.

The crown atop my head is a celebratory hat

I look out from the roof of my palace,

wave to my fellow supports, grinning from sea to sea.

I stare into the sun and the empty returns to view,

the chair adjacent to my own, vacant.

And the only hand to hold is my own.

faith breisblatt | poetry