Guest Poet Maureen Alsop
Yellow, red, blue party lights crack the ink sky.
I turn to your Buffalo eyes, penetrating, gouging, ashamed.
I close my gaze.
At times your voice rises out fresh and clear above those drums,
Resounds and dies again.
In the crash of daylight I hide among the elders.
Suck in the chicory steam of tea, abosorb stale toast.
I conjure your image.
I speak your name;
Seek refuge in the memory of your arms,
Your heart beating like thunder.
I pressure my pulse and curse invations.
Those lost language suffer what we are.
Now, 500 miles away, I lie under hot sheets
Wondering if you drank the French roast coffees,
And ate the soft candies I sent. Months ago.
Darkness crosses. The angels of my sleep
Lift their wings and rise out of my dreams
I am alone so long and it is late.
My darling, please do not respond.
I know you are out, playing music under the stars.
The night smiles to the sun,
Partners joining hands across the wide sky.
I stretch to sense the mystery.
Maureen Alsop's questions:
What does this poem convey to you as a reader?
Does the numbering of each stanza interfere with the poem?
Should each stanza have a heading with the number?
Does the title add to the whole message of the poem?
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