It’s been a day of shouting
by Marina Sofia
Coffee-ad family picture frayed and curled,
burnt up in blood-hot temper.
Sullen moods, sulk and whine, heave and lift
of bone-breaker words:
careless second of uttering,
then a lifetime of regret.
It’s been another day of failing…
my children, my ideal, myself
and all the compensatory cakes I bake
turn to sand in our mouths.
I’m left chasing words on empty beaches,
finding other people’s discarded treasures
more plentiful than shells.
I pick up a conch and pour my anguish in its ear.
I pour all my inadequacy into a jar,
screw on the jam-stained lid so tight
then fling it back into a sea just lukewarm.
So my poems are merely turgid,
my thoughts piddling, my family average.
We muddle on and on,
imperfect and random
victims of illusions
drunk on lost words.
Through Zoe’s Eyes
In Zoe’s eyes the birds don’t sing,
waters run too shallow.
If she could sleep those worries away for a
blink-length in time…
In Zoe’s hands winds drop bland,
little scabs tremble with memory.
She fears no strangers but each
is an intruder
she will not talk to.
She fills in gaps with words apt and inept.
Oilcloth strips she stuffs in the cracks,
when fissures are all she sees and walks on.
Answers rehearsed, eyes dart to the left:
clues we’ve noticed before and again.
Zoe’s skin bears the weight of all scars
her own and the world’s.
When you look through Zoe’s eyes
your world temperature turns down a notch.