Poems After the Equinox



Only odd shoes left

a mish-mash of sizes,

all the bright orange vests

cast aside until next summer–

rip open with both hands

the bloated plastic belly,

see the silken vipers spill out,

perhaps a loved one just died?

You can’t get them back after the tide turns.

Mark them all up as 3.99–

a shirt for a song, white linen,

perfect from the front,

reveals ragged exit wound

from left elbow–cannot be denied,

so into the black bag it goes.

I’m wearing all your discards,

in vintage betrayal–

these tattered threads

will rake gold from the dying sun,

this sorry heap to be forever

turned over, re-sorted,

reduced to rags.

There’s more to be brought up

from the dark basement below–

a Rumpelstiltskin enterprise

with no end in sight.


A Wedding Photo Taken Some Time Ago


We stand side by side

a couple on a cake

in front of the grand fireplace

our smiles a little formal–

framed by pillars of royal icing.

The alabaster dragon spreads

its wings over my new husband’s shoulder

below an empty clock face now reclaimed

by the Queen.

Time is non existent. Hope

ensnared for a few shutter seconds.

Flowers blaze from my hands

to fill the cold hearth.

Poems After the Equinox

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