lines of age and wisdom
come too late,
hasty white strands.
the lines
around eyes and lips
softly drawn curtains
where your smile used to reside,
and the walk of tired years
emerging from disquieted seas
memories,
flickering flames,
now lit with regret
odd smells and an aftertaste
from a favorite cigarette stick,
faces and shadows,
this stranger the mirror does not recognize
yesterday’s goblets emptied, arias played
dances danced and battles waged
the nighttide ebbs into waxen hours,
this long wait, the hours.
THE LONG WAIT
left the windows open,
and from inside,
I hear the little girl pounding,
pounding on the dirty sheets
ten times her size.
she beat the filth away
with a wooden club
made solely for this purpose.
this ritual of little girls,
handed down by dead mothers,
they must learn how to crush innocence
to get to the grime, the malice
that hides deep clings hard to thread and skin.
the mothers said
what do you need of this innocence,
just a brand-new sheet,
better break it in yourself
before the others get to it,
their soot feels fine on top of yours.
the pounding,
slowly becomes a muted song
tender to her ears
notes she carry with her
to old age.
to old age.
THE LITTLE GIRL POUNDING
I can see it in your eyes, the reflection of the person
I was and I am left to wonder
when my face would come to view,
this face that I bear now
the face that holds my smiles and defeats
and stores my tears and triumphs.
this is me.
when will you see
that I am no different
no better
no lesser
no easier removed from your side.
SEE
we await so longingly a miracle to prove our faith,
when there are miracles in the whispering winds
the greenness of leaves, and the godliness of a little ant.
UNTITLED
it will have its way with me
this place...
the hours that eat away at my core
and slowly grinds me in its mouth.
fodder is what i am,
fallen prey to a silent hunter
caged and tethered,
a mindless animal
growling at my fate,
as it spits back at my face.
cut me and i bleed.
break me and i will fall to my knees.
but hurt me, and i will not cry
nor scream and beg for the end.
this place will have its way with me
but it cannot win.
IT MUST NOT.
RAGAZZO.
cris
