Anastasia thoughts again
Leave me wondering why
When I insist
I am neither frightened
Threatened
Or Alone
My dreams speak to me
Of deep water
Cruel smiles
And dark droplets
Of my own blood
Scattered
Across his tombstone
By torrents of something
Beyond rain
All distracted
At some precise moment
By brunettes
With insecure fingers
Forbidding blondes
To touch me
Peeling the morning light
From my eyes
With sleepy hands
Seems maddening
As reality
Drip
Drip
Drips in
Through a crack in the wall
And whispers
We'll see how brave you are
Chasing something
Kept by another
Lurking safely
In the core of herself
Spilling cruelty
With blind eyes
Upon all it encounters
And interrogating flowers
Plucking their petals
With numb fingers
One
By one
Until they lie
Guiding the car
With one sleepy hand
Through round cat on your lap fog
You mentioned the lack
Of natural disasters
Tempting fate's bony smile
My apartment filled rapidly
With purrs
And sleepy mews
Kept fresh
Near the door
Throughout the night
You left with my key
The bronze one
Listening to the radio
To wait impatiently
And become the market's
First customer of the day
Your return
Trumpeted muffins
One chocolate something
One orange spice
With a crunchy sugar top
And soggy bottom
The other
Baked
And attached to bad puns
In Portland
I showered in your absence
And briefly conversed
With the rambling
Gambling girl
Wrapped
In the sheets of my bed
Somehow knowing
Well before you returned
To relay the news
Of mudslides
Confused as eruptions
Sweet milk
Affection
And nasty chocolates
Followed
By beautiful verse
I say hello
And respond
Via e-mail
Greetings
From a puddle on the floor
The pen
Releases no ink
In letters
Words
Pools
Or otherwise
Yielding instead
To a frost
Slowly retreating
My extremities
Remnants
Of a confusing
Frozen wasteland
Brought about
By an angry
Jealous
Bigoted
Former spouse
And poisoned
But happy children
Unknowing emissaries
To a lack
Of birthday poetry
Pushing her
Into the work required
To survive
Notoriously conservative visitors
Incessantly teasing
Of prison
With jailbreak on my lips
She laughs
Grits her teeth
A little
And tattles
On her imagination
Disguised compliments
Wearing their own
Stealthy black outfits
Sneaking into her sentences
Not real rain
More like
A heavy mist
That hides
The Sound's
Opposite shore
And coalesces
In shallow puddles
Perhaps
Purely for conversation
With like minds
Not real rain
Hardly enough
To be heard
Tap
Tap
Taping the bushes
Near my bedroom window
Not real rain
The walkway's
Thin roof
Says to me
In hushed tones
Of beige
As I hurry off to work
Not real rain
No booming voice
To speak
No quick lightening
To defend itself
These tiny droplets
Fall instead
From seemingly
Uninterested clouds
Who give birth
So often
They hardly notice
Not real rain
Not East Coast rain
Not rest of the world rain
But a welcome visitor
To one
Whose deity
More commonly
Alleviates her frustration
With callous humanity
In pelting ice
And torrential snow
She plays with words
While I type
Cat prints
And little
Lesbian
Love
Triangle
Letter
Templates
To her
In third person
Arguing
Cloud colored windows
Versus
Glacial ice
On an overcast day
Or the bay
At dawn
For the color
Of our eyes
Her coffee is cold
Each morning
Exhausted
From the night's
Attempted escape
From glass pot
To cup
To microwave
She rises
Well after my tapping shoes
Begin their daily conversation
With street
And sidewalk
Carrying me off
To work
I imagine her
Sometimes
While driving my desk
Her disheveled hair
Her fuzzy black robe
Her sleepy hands
Freeing
Last night's
Leftover coffee
Why are my hands
So eager
To do work
Once reserved
For little green pens
When I sit
Behind the long
Spacious desk
Playing pretty girl
And receptionist
All at once
While the strong willed
Beautiful woman
Whose jewelry
Tells tales
Does what she does
When I am here
And she
Doesn't have to be
If you have enjoyed Tara Chen's Poetry, then please be certain to e-mail her at tara[at]dementedkitty.com and thank her for posting her Work.
Click here for a list of all of Tara Chen's Stories and Poetry at Sapphic Voices Authoresses.
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