Hour Twelve
Nonet
When you left me standing at my door,
everything disappeared with you.
I have no clue what to do.
Without you, I am lost.
How was it easy
to leave again?
You took all
of my
life
Strawberry Moon
Strawberry moon shines in my backyard
Pinkish and brighter than ever
Shining in the cloudy night
Waiting for a clear sky
June special summer
Sublime moment
’til next time
Farewell
Moon
@Maritza – Hour Twelve
Too Much pt two
One sea green suitcase, one
celestial backpack. My markers
returned to me.
An apartment this time— two
to a room, three rooms per apartment.
Shifts of techs, 15 minutes.
To be monitored. Find the patient,
mark the room, move on.
Group therapy: one facilitator, fifteen
patients, assigned topic. Go!
You have one hour. You have four
tech checks.
One, two, three. Lunch.
Four, five. Dinner.
Six, seven. Sleep.
Clockwork clockwork
Kris across the room eating
Cheetos in a seroquel haze.
Books open my chest like
sharpened rib shears, my
clavicle swinging wide,
beautiful French doors.
Flecks of brain crusting
under my fingernails.
I’ve started eating
in a seroquel haze.
Crumbs in my bed.
Kris would be proud.
Panic and crying and EMDR
and writing and, wait for it—
collapse.
Off to the next chapter.
Just for stabilization.
Hour 12 Nonet – Evening Star
My own Lampropeltis getula
Hungry little scaly sass-snek
Lover of mice and rangoon
Why rattle, Vesper love,
When nothing’s to fear?
Hide in my hands,
My feisty
Evening
Star.
Haiku (Half Marathon Final Hour 12)
Michellia Wilson
Poetry Half Marathon Hour 12 (2021)
Haiku
A piece of stained glass,
Colors bursting through the panes,
You are my sunshine.
HOUR 13 The Hand That Is Dealt
The hand that is dealt, from emergence to ashes,
Unable to quell that need within, eternally alone,
Until I saw the fire in his eyes.
Wrathful fire, flames that burn with fervor and fury,
Simultaneously they spark, incinerating us constantly,
Until I saw the fear in my soul.
The hand that is dealt, from emergence to ashes,
Unable to fall without a fight, unable to submit,
Until I saw the fire in his eyes.
Wrathful vengeance intertwined with intense craving,
Simultaneously needing the kill, struggle for control,
Until one of us drowns.
The hand that is dealt, from emergence to ashes,
Unable to relent, enforcing the arousing struggle,
Until one of us is extinguished.
Wrathful pride forces my hand, and I offer the sport,
Simultaneously unable to surrender, bloodied hands,
Until one of us is subdued.
The hand that is dealt, from emergence to ashes,
I lay my cards on the table,
To oppose the other’s supremacy,
We pick the prey of our opponent,
And the kill must go ahead.
Regardless of attachment,
Regardless of innocence,
Regardless of kinship.
The loser forfeits freedom, to the will of the other,
And the victor determines the price!
Confident of my ability, I await his response,
And my impending sovereignty.
Blame
You point your index finger at your student.
“You didn’t pay attention. You didn’t listen. You didn’t study. You fell asleep. You looked around. Your phone was out.”
You……………………………..You…………………You…………………You……………….You……………………..You………………………
“No wonder you failed.”
Yes, the Fingers tell the story. While one is pointing at the student Three are pointing back at you!
Blueridge Mountains, no judgment
There’s a glade just
north of Brevard, where no lights
can reach, where no vehicle
can reach, where no fear
can reach. There’s a pump
that draws just
above frozen. There’s a short
gentle dirt cliff with good
throwing rocks. There’s a
public bathroom that is just
a toilet seat over a deep hole.
There is a stream three feet
at the deepest point. There is
a narrow shore with narrow sand,
slick rocks to slip across. There
is green. There is sparkle
in the flow, mineral visible but
too spare without sun. There
is a campsite that is just
beaten down earth. There
is a fire pit, mostly, that is just
a ring of stones. There is a
wooden footbridge stained green
with moss and algae, sturdy
for another twelve years.
There is a woman
There is a woman with her head just
under the flowing pump, left hand
pressing against the rusted grate.
For balance. There is a woman
stepping across creek bed rocks.
There is a woman laying on the narrow
shore with the narrow sand against
her back, her feet just
in the unnamed water.