An Afternoon

I remember being sprawled on the dock, belly down,
tick-tocking my feet to ground, to sky,
and watching as you let the reel turn a transparent thread
into turgid pond water.

With ease you pulled the line back to-
such grace,
slick and trusting.
Intrigued, my eyes bobbed as the lure
dove and exposed itself silently.
Even the reeds leaned in, curious;
even the water's ripples lingered to witness
the catch.

Then, without warning, the line took.
Your hook pierced.
I drew and released
the air.

And I still recall how the creature fought,
how you leaned down and sweetly kissed its wounds.

afraid of the light

she never marveled at mirages
never dazzled at diamonds
because things that sparkle and shine
can singe and blind the eyes
so she painted grey matter
gradients from white to black
light to black
even the good became bad when it wasn't.

and mirages turned to nightmares mid-day
and diamond-edged thoughts pricked her psyche
and bruised her ego with its punches.
it was a violent thought process,
for in the recesses of her memory
his past became part of their present and even prettier than it ever was
in photographs

so when she held these jealous woman-made pictures to
the prettiest face of all,
her lover's,
she hovered, haunted by imagination
hoping he'd ignore the sheen
and glistening photographic memory of them
but he just shifted his gaze in frustration, for he never saw it that way,
never gave the same image the luster she envied
and her tangled green smothered his golden rays
so he left her to burn in the ashes.
to sift through the evidence that never was
to relate the facts that never were
and come to the conclusion that,
he was actually
just happy
with her.