Cold rain pelted me as I climbed the stairs
Home, but my key would not open the lock
Anger stabbed me; a knife thrust, unawares
Thunder roared at my plight, as if to mock
Night fell as I sheltered against the wall
My clothing soaked, but little did I care
I felt like a puppet; a limp stringed doll
Drowning in anguish, I said a prayer
Marooned in the stairwell, without a phone
Entry to my home had been forbidden
Never had I felt so lost and alone
Feeling quite helpless, tears came unbidden
To despair and alarm I grew enslaved
Opening the locked door was all I craved
September 21st, 2017
"Stuck" for Sara
Singing with the radio,
I tap the steering wheel
in time with the music.
I smile in anticipation,
visualize myself dressed
in the new threads.
The light flares green,
no time to stop.
Wordless, her eyes beg.
Her toothless smile is sad,
her hands still, but for the cross
she traces on her narrow breast.
I feel her pain,
a knife-thrust deep.
The sign beside her
spells her fear.
Shame becomes my cloak;
my empty purse mocks
as packages rustle
on the back seat.
(a poetry collection)
for The Beloved and in honor of Mevlana Jallaladin Rumi
… the mind within mutely knows that much of love´s pain is not surrender, but self-infliction,
yet willingly surrenders to a blindfold worn above a knife thrust into the heart…
* * *
… in vain, we hope the wound will heal, though the wind will caress it during the magnificent
and cleansing terror of free-fall...
~~~~~~~
Loving you is my indulgence… please indulge yourself…
* * *
… intimacy flourishes at night because love walks the velvet-deep
of night-sky…… wrap it around you… intimately…
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