I can’t think of words today.

Only spaces.

Silence can be beautiful.   Or it can be tense.  It could speak a novel of words about the situation which caused it.  But it can’t.  You must speak for it.

Dream-catcher

Quick spin in invisible wind,

woven web with tails

like dreadlocks, feathers alert

like the queen’s guard,

heart of dreams. 

Do you catch mine?

It comes in the night,

small smile, sharp grin:

let me in?

The shadow on the wall,

the squeak near the door,

only more:

it is resigned, lost, tired; tell me,

can you catch time?

 © aworldofsky

Spiderweb

She thinks she knows him,

thinks she loves his smile

and his eyes and his jokes.

Until he looks at her with

that greedy gaze, a biting

glance, a snarling face.

She turns her face

away, pleads with him

to stop.  His lips bite

into hers with a smile,

his body like a predator with

all the power, not joking.

Everyone will think it’s a joke;

who would believe her pretty face

cries for being with

him?  She can’t look at him,

can’t bear to see his smile,

even for the smallest bit

of time.  She wants to bite

him, tear and discard him like the joker

he is, hide the smile. 

She wants to scar his face,

mark him, beat him

for being the one she wanted to be with.

She goes out without

him, faces the biting

frost, tells a friend about him.

Is this a joke?

Look at my face,

am I smiling? 

No-one smiles. 

She goes to the police with

bruises all over and fear in her face. 

They promise to do every bit

they can for her, make no jokes

about it: she can try to forget him.

But in the night, his face still bites

through her dreams, smiles behind her eyes with

all joking aside.  She can never leave him.

 © aworldofsky

Memory

I stalk you

through the window. 

I creep in

on moonlight,

sharing your room. 

I lie next to you,

stroking your hair:

remember when

they were here?

And I become

the only witness

to your midnight tear.

 © aworldofsky

Motivation

The window you can’t quite reach,

the key that won’t turn the lock

and that glittering speech

your tired mind never forgot.

 © aworldofsky

Looking forward

It is cold.  Cold, but with the promise of warmth.  Heat hides just behind the mist in an immature game of hide and seek; spring is childish in comparison to the blaze of summer. 

Damp ducks wade across casually, oblivous to the bite in the air.  Crouching, I am level with the lake.  It soaks the bottom of my jeans, and for a moment I see myself dragged down by its weight as it clutches the material: a step too far and I would be lost to vapour and pale water.  I decide that there are worse ways for my morning to end.

© aworldofsky

Mother

My hands are brittle,

the china cup that you dropped,

uncaring, onto the floor.

My skin has become

last week’s newspaper, waiting

to be set alight.

My body is worthless;

the sofa I gave you six years ago,

now idle in your garage.

My senses are outshone 

by the old television in the attic,

blurred faces and words.

My voice is lost on you,

the pale hum of a mosquito

whose exit you await.

My legacy will be an urn

for your great-grandchildren

to forget to polish.

 © aworldofsky

Endings

Snow melting when you left, and I took

a candle to the snowman.

Watched, as his face slid

into my palm through matchstick fingers.

I removed his scarf.  It crawled away

like moss from the heat.

Frail arms snapped, taking the nearest

fire exit a second too late.

His absurd orange nose fell.

I remained laugh less, watching.

A tear hesitated down his chest,

then relaxed into burning air.

Over.  His eyes cowered

like beetles before a fire.

The fairy lights shone

a question mark through their window.

Limp grass sighed under its burden

of snow.  I waited.

What for?  My breath

lingered in his sky.

 © aworldofsky