Sarah Frances Moran
I’d developed past the desire
After the discardment
in the past,
allowing a woman to infest me
set off blazing light
in the ability
to skirt walls.
to avoid the spotlight.
to dance around the shadows
of the searchlights.
Even on high alert,
she eludes me.
She weasels her way into the poems
that aren’t even about her.
Setting up residence
in the pit of me.
Turning my soul
Poets Are Never Lost
Not to life or the splintering thereafter.
They rest between the syllables of words.
Inside the neatly tucked crevices of all the things
we wished we said and the things we wish we didn’t.
They live on in the rhyme and in the rhythm
of the way that words fall from our lips even when they quiver.
Every beautiful extravaganza of life that every
person witnesses and gives voice to holds inside it
the voice and essence of every poet – across every lifetime.
They are never lost.
They may wander and they may wonder where to.
But the where to is an infinite.
You can find them in the trails of words they leave behind
and in the way those words settle and nest, inside your heart.
The connection between my lover and me
began in the trails that run along the outer
edges of my brain. Where a Pixie was born
and elf ears mattered.
That evolution started in my teens. Sparked in
the way my hair was so heavy and held down
all the ways I felt I was becoming.
As it morphed from locks to fades I shed everything
I was hiding in my hair. My sexuality, my doubt,
my fear and the ways in which I felt I was inappropriately
Now, it’s a toss-up. It’s a funny look in the women’s bathroom
but it’s also ecstasy when she runs her hands against
the smoothness of my neckline.
My hair reflects the revolutions of my life. How I know
I’m larger than societal preconceptions but also
how I’m under that thumb. How I’m stronger in this self,
sexier in this self but also sometimes afraid of this self.
Those trails she runs I know are paths she desires.
I keep them clean cut so she can always find me.
Your Shining Autumn, Ocean Crashing
The way the waves invaded the shore
I thought of his hands
and then of yours, soft like cotton candy on my tongue.
Made a choice on where to focus.
You sang me to sleep that night
and I asked myself
had anyone ever written anything for me?
and decided it didn’t matter
Fell asleep on that stiff like whiskey bed
Feeling the rumble of currents inside my gut
Resolving to be bigger, mightier and
worthy of your storms.
If I were Jane Gallagher
The answer would be yes.
I still keep all of my kings
on the back row
even though I’ve spent decades
determining where to move them.
Thank you for asking about me but
Stepdads are Stepdads.
Phonies are phonies.
Morons are morons
and my kings, remain safe.
In my fantasy
I go back to that time when
checkers strategy was the looming decision,
not whether the way you’re going to touch me might set off a series of
that never end.
But Holden, you can move your kings.
Just pick up the phone
and call me.
Making Love To The Sea
You walk with feet against hot sand that cannot be kept from entering
the cool water.
With the way the mist of the waves becomes a whisper,
like a lover’s lips close to your ears drawing you in.
You disregard your lack of gill.
Forget the way the anatomy tells you, you have to be.
Take the plunge into the unfamiliar
and make it mold to your skin.
No one ever realizes how hard that swim is.
How it never occurred to you that you couldn’t enter those waters,
until you heard all the screaming from the shore.
How it didn’t matter and how those screams could never be loud enough
to make you exit,
because you were made this way,
whether it was normal or not.
No one ever realizes how beautiful and brave it is
that even though you’ve been told your whole life you’re meant for the shore
you chose to make love to the sea.
Get Off Your Knees Boy
all the scrapes
and all the scars
that span the years of kneeling and wishing
can’t give you the sky
if when you’re standing
tall and proud
the kindest hand you offer
is always an afterthought
the sky will always turn its head
juking your kiss
to find the honest mouth
with the courageous tongue
that will spark the stars to shoot
and make the moon shine bright
the lips that bring a sizzle to the sun
that goosebumps the landscape
those will always win out
over the hypocrisy of some kneeling
the sky falls in love with your kindness…
and its kiss craves the bravery that pours off your lips
so get up or on your knees boy,
it doesn’t matter
just do it honestly