Cristina Umpfenbach
Uptown Summer NightTen years, his gestures still unfamiliar,
the way he holds his cup, his laugh, needs, wants. He gives me flowers, red carnations, I like yellow roses. At night he reaches for me, his arm around my waist, draws me close. falls into a deep contended sleep. I huddle on the fire escape. Oppressive heat, uptown summer night sticks to my skin. A pockmarked moon melts into a water tower. Across the alley a television strobes blue. Sirens repeat themselves. Stink rides on heavy air. Music drifts, seeps into me, makes me rock, I want a cigarette, a drink, a fuck. A woman screams below. I feel the sound. Stomach rises into my throat. The scar across my face burns hot. Familiar pain rises. I crawl back, close the window, draw the drapes. The fan labors against stagnant air. I slide into bed, into safety, still unfamiliar. Acoustic MemoriesHe wakes, aware
of sound, rhythmic against the window pane. …. Rain. He cannot see her in the dark. sprawled beside him. ......remembers long legged high breasted beauty. Startled she feels his touch. Fingers make their way fumble, explore. “Touch me” he whispers. She reaches out, cups him in her hand, gently, holds his flaccid flesh, dares not to hope for more. Dementia pierced by sound, remembrances of touch. Kind darkness fills the room. The rain stops. He startles, withdraws deep into the pillows. Silence sweats with fear. .......he remembers nothing more BlossomIn the long evening silence
night gathers darkness. Jasmine scented moon rolls over cedars, stirs longing for by-gone days. I planted a bed of Forget-you flowers, Icy white hearts. As I look for them, I find bright blue Forget-me-not. In the long evening silence lavender clouds ride the breeze into the ending day. I wonder, can this heart still blossom? Comments? |
Through a Lens SharplyColors bright
under the midday sun, green, red, orange, yellow a perfect picture, a perfect angle. Earthen tone tribal cloth draped around her against a bright blue sky, billows in the breeze which carries sand over the parched expanse that is her life. She sings softly, swaying, waving away flies on the face of her starving child Walking Away Once MoreI stroll though sunlit days of memories,
sounds, scents and textures. Vistas, aromas of my yesterdays. The purple lilac’s scent, fireplace dreams, gentle touches and passionate embrace. I walk the meadows, forests, city streets, the ocean shores of my remembrance. I greet familiar faces, embrace friends. I enter crepuscule, hasten my step, leave behind the setting sun’s display, pass into a darkened hidden space to mournful chants of faceless choirs. I run the gauntlet of forgotten anguish, pain, loss. Struggle through thorny thickets, landscapes of quicksand and mirages, lost loves and punches of betrayals. Breathless I gasp for air. Exhale the shadows, inhale the light, and breathe. Trophy WifeEthereal beauty,
she moves with grace. Firm breast barely raise her sheath. Perfect smile, feet a fetishist delight. Men envy him his wife, his collection of cubist masters. He looks at her asleep. Moonlight plays on her face, unkindly casts sharp angles. Her skeleton frame barely raises the sheets. He dreams rubenesque, pendulous breasts, nourishing milk laden, round meaty buttocks, eager hips to meet his thrust, swollen pink labia, welcoming deep moist escape. He knew once. He moans. She moves slightly. |
