Stranded on a Deserted Moon

Somewhere between the lines
All the lines ended, started
Away from the closed fist
Vibrating below the lamplight
Scallops rising to the remaining surface,
I’d say, “Ho - I am more comfortable now
How weary can I get, Maria?”

Waiting for the sky to close -
Part possibility, part past tense -
I used to get home late
Up the staircase, shiny, dark -
My wishes all turned green, grey, forgetful
Afternoon waiting for me on a plate
Of Saltines.

Often the pace was too slow,
Maria - I too was eager -
Going over who we were --
When I was supposed to be asleep
I was pretending to dream
And the door was open.

Maria, your name was not yet yesterday,
You sat by the window,
Damp breath kept it visible,
We shared the hot-water bottle
With the red stars,
Cherry on the lip
With bunches of berries
Properly arrayed.

Red, blue and ochre
The carpet beyond the sheets
As big as the bedroom.
Born before my time
Too early for the sixties,
Maria, looking away
As if you saw the shadow streets lighted.

Inches away yet hidden, as when my father disappeared
Into Sports Illustrated,
Whenever young ladies lost their way
Back in the restless years of the Korean Conflict
Into some languid euphemism
Unseemly, hermetic
We rose above resignation - when the un-modern
Were still in their reading lists and vacations!

A good read, Peter, I like the vivid imagery here.

Les

Thanks for visiting, Les.

Peter