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Alexandra Romanyshyn Poem
You’re skin and bones, chick.
Compassion commands me stop,
stare, on my path, where you sleep.
I see dryness, hear stillness, feel silence.
You’re skin and bones, chick.
Were your chirps for worms
silenced in unsound Mother’s ears?
Your wings, too weak,
too still, on your first, failed, flight?
Your plume-less limbs
Coverless in cold night?
Uncovered corpse, bony chick.
No shore water to wash away
your undug green grave
in a low, lonely juniper.
My eyes wash me in salt water.
I have a path; yours ends here
your bones sinking, my brain soaring.
Which frightened robin, fleeing my footsteps,
was your misguided mother? So unlike mine,
who saw her child, underfed, and said,
“You’re skin and bones, my chick.”
Copyright © Alexandra Romanyshyn | Year Posted 2014
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Alexandra Romanyshyn Poem
She remembers the night they met at the ball.
He asked her to dance by the Gatsbian pool.
She remembers the sight of women who tear
their clothes off to dive in, and she leaves
the thought of him for one of purifying water,
as she rips off her string of gaudy beads.
Sweat collects on his brow in angry beads
as he strikes at a painted, glossy ball.
His brains are a sack of amniotic water
secreting through his glands into a pool
and he drowns in his mind, which leaves
room only for a single, lonely tear.
Her heaving womb appears to tear
through her crop shirt- her blood in beads
gushes and drops like leaves-
a release of tension- her stress ball
drops- bounces- through a game- of pool ?
She fears- her bloom will die without water.
His turn is over, and he takes a swig of water.
The next player strikes, and the fibers of the cue tear
the threads of the felt, aqua pool
table. The liberated lint forms beads
on the moving stick that strikes the cue ball.
His heart leaps and he leaves.
The plants in her garden have leaves
that wither when she forgets to water
the earth and give each one a ball
of fertilizer, and now she even forgets to tear
out weeds that creep into beds and between beads
in the ejaculating fountain of her avian pool.
He remembers diving into her bottomless pool
on the blanket of her lawn abreast feathery leaves.
His maddened sweat mirrors her beads,
broken, like her emergent water
that announced the internal tear
making way for the ten-pound, screaming ball.
Their voices patter like beads of rain landing on a pool.
They can again have a ball together, even if it leaves
the white water of her breasts in one, joint tear.
Copyright © Alexandra Romanyshyn | Year Posted 2014
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Alexandra Romanyshyn Poem
Oh God, forgiver of all ills,
To thee we lift one voice;
Through thee, our reason is instilled,
Our wills, granted free choice.
Upon the cross on Calvary,
Thy only Son forgave
The errors of humanity;
Our weakened souls, he saved.
Thy justice is all-merciful,
Rewarding self-control,
Then sparing tortures that befall
The sloth of weak, impassioned souls.
Thy heavens turn in symmetry,
To follow thy design,
The world obeys the Almighty,
For all power is thine.
Copyright © Alexandra Romanyshyn | Year Posted 2014
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Alexandra Romanyshyn Poem
I began the day we first met. Pebbles clattered.
I picked and hacked, my mud-spattered mattox.
The first layer of earth was smooth, cool, compact;
hard to break. Once breached,
easy to up-heave.
The second layer, malleable;
my pick penetrated in even sweeps.
The third, a clay core;
years spent mining,
I reached the heart,
bipolar as a planet.
Copyright © Alexandra Romanyshyn | Year Posted 2014
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