On this Saturday night, we might have
curled our toes in sand, tried to catch flies
with chopsticks, counted stars. We might
have found some form of peace,
but we never really learned the fine balance
of precious words on a sober tongue,
or the reprieve offered by sunset
and a breath pulled into lower belly.
Instead, we clean the wax that drools from lips,
chatter like keyboards, unravel our ribbons,
trade jokes with the dead, and
pluck the frayed pages of written confessions out of the fire pit.
The last time we were here
I read Revelations from the Bible
in hotel night stand with preacher precision.
I rattled on about the end of the world
in a quick cadence to distant drumbeats
played for strange faces and arched eyebrows
that pretend to know the secret of mixed drinks.
The past we longed to forget
waits for us to reenact its misdeeds.
The present we longed to ignore
perches on our shoulder blades.
The future we hoped to avoid
bides time on the other side of night.
Some of us got drunk faster than others,
some of us had mango bodies that slurped quick fire,
with spread lips to laugh or fang,
erupting throats to sing or scream.
Some paced like anxious dogs, unstoppable, urgent,
ready for war and revolution.
All of us desperate for the end of the world.
Kaye is a writer and educator seeking an audience for her ever-growing surplus
of poetic meanderings. She hoards her previous published writings, links to
publications, and additional information on her website: ironandsulfur.com. She is grateful to
anyone who reads her work and in awe of those willing to share it.