Poetry: Earthly dissonance

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Anna Rosen/Staff

When your words run dry,

Like the parched Colorado, thirsting for Mexico,

Fissured lips, seldom a drop to lust at;

Bed’s empty.

When all it finds are bones, and you yours

Find me

I’ll be here.

 

When babes bristle at your touch

Estranged — the forest from its soil, the sea its ice;

When there are no leaves to fall in that time we call

The fall, there are none. Leave

A naked tree

Come.

 

Find me.

 

When shadows cloud your sight,

A cave, rigid to the fingers of the sun,

And the night erects a blackened moon,

And the wind, it howls, not the wolf;

When mountains shudder.

Find me,

 

I’ll be here.

In some corner, my back against the world,

If I curl my teeth and snarl your name

Do not pay me any heed —

It is in greeting.

Step forth, if you may,

I’ll be the silhouette among the stumps,

The shifty shape beyond the smoky fire.

Take my hand,

In friendship or in yearning, I do not care,

Just not in love.

For how can love be,

When you utter nothings, caress cold, watch darkly.

 

We can swim naked in the algae-rot, if you want,

Sleep under a million ink dots where stars once shined,

Gaze upon the horizon, as day succumbs to night and yields Hades’ cloak.

Take my hand

But stay still —

Let us wait

For the fiery wind to heave

Us skyward

Into tonight’s gale

The night’s veil

Will ravage our bodies

— Plunder and pry —

Tangle limbs, tear hair;

I’ll curl as a fetus to the sullen sky

Until the ashes settle and we,

Blind to color, immune to smoke

Are calcified, alone together —

The final human remnants of

A world we once said was ours but forgot to cradle,

Robbed —

And all around is wind and fire.

Listen.

How the white ants click

And the crickets scream.

 

Hannah Lewis is a writer for the Weekender. Contact her at [email protected]