two more old poems

five.sixteen.ohfive

"what happened to us?" she says to me.
my
mind
stays
blank.
softer now,
"what happened?"
she reaches toward me
with those fragile hands
I did not inherit.
I watch them move,
but I am somewhere else entirely.
I slip off the bed,
my foot caught in the covers.

The train coos
as is it passes my house.
the rain has made it sound damp.
shower,
and get dressed
for no one.



three.thirteen.ohfive

in a garden
two roses, one white
one red
competed for the sunlight
and the covetous rain.
the white, at an elevation advantage
received more of these precious commodities.
"dear friend," asked the red rose,
"would you please grow slightly to the left
so that I may acquire some of the morning's light?"
the white rose replied,
"oh, my darling, I could not very well
deprive myself of such necessities,
now could I?"
and so the red rose fell silent
and in grief hung its head.

a gardener, searching
for a table adornment, was
immediately taken by the white rose's beauty
and proceeded to cut it from its home.
so the red rose was then bathed in sunlight
and kept its new found treasure to itself
as roses often do.