Loitering

A Reaction in Four Parts

When I asked if this was what you wanted,

you wouldn’t give an answer. The cancer

of uncertainty gnaws at my muddled

mind as I look back and wonder if all

this time was just a game when I saw you

in goodnights and birthdays and holidays

and futures. What sutures do you use to

close the wounds of unanswered thoughts? Perhaps

the good is lost in the bitter flavor.

  When I asked if this was what you wanted,

you responded with anger. A stranger

emerged, unwilling to talk, to give a

glimpse of what was beyond the steely stare.

I’d praise you for your perseverance, your

unwavering commitment to this last

decision, if only I could know my

words would even be heard. No pity in

your words, to make letting go easier.

  When I asked if this was what you wanted,

there was sadness in your tone, screaming through

the words that reluctantly emerged. I

could feel that you felt the pain that you dealt,

even as you said it didn’t matter.

Your subtle silences spoke volumes. This

was special. We were special. But that can’t

matter when you know that special can not

overcome unconcluded history.

  When I asked if this was what you wanted,

you wouldn’t give an answer, because the

answer is clear: what we must do is not

always what we want.

Track 1

A little conversation is all it takes on

                    the beach at day break. Kiss me gently

                                   as quiet notes waft across the sand

                         out of the open door of your car idling

                                             in the background. The only sound is

                                        you and me and the pristine waves as

                                                            your lips sear your name on my

                                                  tongue and the soft guitar serenades

                                 the silence. Hold me closer, feel me warm

                    against you. The water is beautiful.

Sunset Over Atlantic

The tan line on my ring finger has faded,

just another reminder of the time we’ve lost

since that day at the beach when my ring

washed away with the tide. We couldn’t afford

to replace it. Maybe I should have taken that as

a sign.

Heart and Soul

Dusty Morning

At least I told the truth, and yet

the truth of the matter is that none of it matters.

Reasons why, what made it die, the goodbyes-

I cry but none of the questions wash away.

It just makes mud, mudding up my mind,

making me wonder more and more: why?

I wish I had that answer.

I wish you had that answer.

I wish, as you sat there in your leather jacket

with no shirt, and me underdressed

in faded pajamas and old jeans,

I wish you could have said- or maybe I don’t.

To accept that it happened is

a challenge alone. To know why is more than

I could stand. Who, what, when, and where:

these will have to do. I’ll never accept a reason

why you can’t forgive me the way I forgave you.

Warm Body

Time can never erase the taste, the touch,

the heat of smooth, soft skin. My fingertips

ached to pull him closer. Hands felt my hips,

urging me onward, still forward. So much

depends upon simple contact, and such

sweet, plum caresses from succulent lips.

But this is not quite right. Fantasy rips

and he is not my warmth, the one I clutch.

Not lover, friend, my partner strong and bold,

who brings me to my sweetest, perfect form.

He is a stranger, a poor substitution,

an improper plaster cast, hard and cold.

He could never mold to your humor or charm.

You are gone, he is just an illusion.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Before our first date you bought me white lilies. I guessed you didn’t know the symbolism. But as the two of us become one for the who-knows-what time – you, deep inside me and I, clenched tight around you – I wonder if you did. Sometimes I feel as if we have become dead together. Your burning skin pressed against me, answering my need, no longer smells like cinnamon, only sweat. As your lips caress my collarbone, my breast, my navel you no longer taste strawberry, only salt. This four-story apartment building, box-shaped and bland, no longer is a stepping stone to a better life, but just another reminder of how our plans fell through. I remember the lilies as your hands squeeze my aching flesh, too warm for a corpse. The sun rises and the birds chirp and I convince myself that we are not yet dead. Even if that sun has long faded our yellow curtains. Even if we hardly speak. Even if you no longer call me liebe, though  we still make love. Even if your touch is the only thing I’m still living for.

The Ten Commandments

Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not worship idols. Thou shalt not take the name of thy lord in vain. Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Honor your father and your mother. Thou shalt not murder. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not give false testimony. Thou shalt not covet.

Visitors! Welcome to our humble church.

This is Brother Sam, be nice to him,

he’s only happy if he’s the center of attention.

And this is one of our Elders, Tom. That’s

his new BMW in the parking lot. I swear, he

loves that thing more than his wife! And oh my

God, there’s Sister Tina, hard at work preparing

lunch! I swear that woman never takes a day off.

Oh dear, here comes the pastor’s son - don’t

make eye contact, his father kicked him out

last weekend for telling him to “fudge” off,

pardon my language. I heard they had a fight

over Pastor Phillip backstabbing his brother

over an old grudge, but I could be mistaken.

Look, it’s his wife! She and the associate pastor

have been rather close lately. His suits have also

been getting nicer. Funny, I’d think his salary

would shrink with how the weekly collections

been dropping. Oh well. Oops, time to take

our seats! The youth minister is preparing to

testify before the congregation that he didn’t

pull a Clinton with our little miss Monica.

Feel free to find me after service - I’ll just be

here, coveting a life away from “Christians.”

Lone Tree - Rachel Schneider

Medium: 

Calligraphy pens on paper

Passerby

You know, I really love it when you pretend

that I don’t exist.

You climbed out of your car,

alone in the grocery store parking lot.

We made eye contact,

I almost dropped my bag of eggs.

You locked the car and zipped up your jacket

and jogged to the door, out of the cold

as if I never even existed.

Not even a smile?

The least you could do is acknowledge me.

My stomach clenches as

I shove food into my trunk.

My appetite is gone.