One call

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One Call 

one call was all it took

to run through the wind

crash into your chest –

share our nexus of lips

press-in clavicled crook 

one call to toss threats

of punishment – a list-ing

willow tangled in summer

wind – my fifteen-year-old

face flush with the tender

new born ache of wanting –

that swear to never forget

left in a blazing chamber of

my young heart even now -

ready to run

again –

Evict Edict

Evict Edict  

It came in a plain white envelope

that word evict - in stark black

glowing like a poor magician’s

parlor trick – titillating threat

to vanish her ephemeral home

by sleight of hand – whoosh –

Such things should not come in

plain white envelopes such a

threat should not deny its evil

intent – it should creep up to

the door and dash away in a

black cloud of stink leaving the

stench of the valley of the death

of hope burning behind – Now,

she sits envelope dropped to floor

hands over her ears waiting for

the fear to subside – waiting until

with a rush of sudden inspiration

she stands, throws open the door

and runs in a free-flee-glee of

slapping feet into the nick of time

over the horizon.  

Gentle steps

Gentle Steps

Let my step be delicate as

I walk through the sand of 

time allotted in this given

life – let me disturb not a

single blade of beach grass 

as I pass –let me leave un-

molested the pastel-tender

wild- flowers sprinkling

the path that leads

down sea-ward

Let my step be

delicate as I

walk in the

sands of

time into

an aqua-

marine

sea as it

rises to

rock me

in an

end-

less

lulla-

by

  

A child was born…

l

A child was born…

Far and long ago from the echo of my heart

a son was born - washed along the shore of

aquamarine waters–the drizzle of a formerly

uncertain heaven showering light onto this –

phantastical fresh face blinking itself indelibly

into the lines of my soul – the silhouette of all

that was sacred traced by a fingertip run along 

the incomparable down of this cheek  nuzzling 

my suddenly ripe breast- this new-born infant – 

this new-born me –swelling with love – dazzling 

sensing each reprogramming of every cell of my being –

breaking the chrysalis of my individual self soaring into 

motherhood - rising from white sands sparkling spun sugar

Far and long ago –yesterday in the shadow

of falling-towered-memories -  tomorrow on

a day when I will drift into the whisper of the

wind – this love continues – unchallenged –

unassailable –this far road of the heart walked

along the shore of birth – laying in the ecstatic

drizzle of perfumed air – the seeded sprout-love

blazing forth in hibiscus tree- blossomed glory –

running my again young fingertip down this miracle 

of down-velvet silhouette on this newly appeared face, 

laying in lush repose -sated and ripe as lines drew magical 

mystical indelible images across my very soul changing forever 

the landscape of my self - as softly the finger of grace  itself brushed my eyes  

The Sunday Whirl

Money sleeps

Kim Newberg

Money sleeps

She should have disbelieved her friends who

said there would be a warning – a signal from

the tower – There was nothing but the bridge

burning –and she ran with the women to the

pond standing each with at least a lone infant

wrapped in a skirt torn from her body- holding

babies high above the scum – as night fell and

fires burned - they stood together unscreams

behind chattering teeth – Nothing more than a

collection of wasted organs – unrelated DNA

their tears and gasps and horror, insignificant

as a single cell is to a mammoth – as Money

turned on the telly, shut the windows, flicked up

the AC, pulled the curtains closed, spraying air –
freshener to clear the annoying stench of death 

The Sunday Whirl