Sonny

Sonny

Ashamed. I am a child
in a black dress waiting
for your bed-time story,
and pyamas - as this space
has no room of my own -
yet it has beautiful belly books
it has ludicrously lustful letters
it has wonderfully wisy words -
however -

jumping off no cliff will not
hiding in the sand will not
help you - said he whose
voice weakened me - my head
upon the pillow, butcher's block,
upon the promise of his touch,
a mere body, awaiting -
in the nude my hair curling -
diving in - swept over by tide
by killer whales by time
by all the salt of this sea.

Soiled Goods

Last Night when I was doing
the laundry I sort of got stuck
synopsizing what was mostly
Stains of Fish & Fledgling
McNuggets & Cauliflower Soup
on the garments I'd previously
worn - out -

afresh and categorized
remnants of had been
vessels void of life
such were the Colour
& Care arrangements
in front of me
affronting me

I am sorry, I said, dear
clothes, of what seems
is an illogical array of
amendments I have Undone
& Ruined in other people's
Dirty Dancing - I TRULY
Apollo -
gize
for
ME.

Just wait a minute
for the machine
to open.
I can hardly wait.