Digging to Hell

I can’t seem to bury you so deep

that you don’t resurface.

In the morning, brushing my teeth,

I sense your presence, ask myself

what did I do.  And that card

you sent “all things must end,”

what was I supposed to make of that?

I doubt that you are in a cavern

as deep as mine, you who are always right.

You forgot common decency when you cut

off all conversation. Each time you slip

into my mind, I tumble further

to the depths. I will be through

with thoughts of you when I plunge

into the cave’s dark zone.

                                                                        Penstriken  2024

Reflections

I don’t like looking into mirrors.

I fear that all I will see is a long face, an ear

that sticks out, and a mole on my neck.

But the mirror came with the old house,

I left it on its wall.  Occasionally, I see

a fleeting image of myself.

In my current house,

the only mirror is in the bathroom.    

Groggy from sleep, I see my mother. 

Her long face, lines running

like parentheses along the sides

of her nose to her mouth. 

I don’t know what I thought I might find,

perhaps an artifact of myself. I find

only the long lines like hers.

Her reflection smiles at me.

                                                                                    Pineberry lit journal

                                                                                    2024

.

Eyes That Cannot See

But what have eyes, the sightless creatures

            of the caves. Potato’s many eyes see

through the soil to emerge as green plants.

.

Moths, the polyphemus and luna have eyespots

            on their hind wings perhaps for defense.

The northern pygmy owl has feathered eyes

            on the back of its head, giving the appearance

of looking forwards and backwards at the same time,

            just as mothers with eyes in the back of their heads

And then the eyes of loved one: a parent, a horse, a dog

            who see infinity with their last breath.

                                                                        County Lines A Literary Journal

                                                                        2024

Horizons

I climb the last ashened tree

            to scan the horizon, to see what

                        we have left of the world. Trees

                                    around me are charred matchsticks

                                                from the final fire.  No sound rises

                                                            from the ashes.  Where have the night’s

                                                                        owls gone, the warblers of the northeast.

                                                                                    Heated streams hide no salamanders. 

I look to the skyline; see only civilization’s

            skeletons.   The sweet scent of ocean is erased

                        by the oily smell of burning; a sheen floats

                                    on the surface where swordfish jumped. 

                                                The once clear midnight blue sky is shrouded

                                                            gray-green from the last airplane’s exhaust.

As my last sigh leaves me,

            the vultures swoop down to glean

                        what they can from my decimated body.

No more black flags will sail the skies.

                                                                        Field Guide Magazine

                                                                        2024

Horizons

I climb the last ashened tree

            to scan the horizon, to see what

                        we have left of the world. Trees

                                    around me are charred matchsticks

                                                from the final fire.  No sound rises

                                                            from the ashes.  Where have the night’s

                                                                        owls gone, the warblers of the northeast.

                                                                                    Heated streams hide no salamanders. 

I look to the skyline; see only civilization’s

            skeletons.   The sweet scent of ocean is erased

                        by the oily smell of burning; a sheen floats

                                    on the surface where swordfish jumped. 

                                                The once clear midnight blue sky is shrouded

                                                            gray-green from the last airplane’s exhaust.

As my last sigh leaves me,

            the vultures swoop down to glean

                        what they can from my decimated body.

No more black flags will sail the skies.

                                                                        Field Guide Magazine

                                                                        2024

Straight

My spine aches to be rid

of its S curves. When it was a good

spine, it stood erect and proud like an oak tree

but now it is a bent paper clip and rotated like a top

caught trying to keep its balance. What it would give

to be freed of all attachments to be un-twisted and re-

curved to its original length. But even now, in its current

state it acts as a conduit for the delicate

spinal cord that runs

my body. I have

to keep it, it

is the only

one I

hav

e.

                                                                                    Knee Brace Press

                                                                                    2024

Snow in the Room

It is cold here but not as icy as your heart,

it is so frigid snow could fall into this room.

It would cover the wound in my heart

but blood would seep to the surface.

Icicles would hang from the chandelier,

daggers waiting to shred my body

as they fall. Spring will come, melt drifts

from the windows, wash me from this room.

                                                                                    Minute Musings

                                                                                    2024