Sudan.
Tear shaped droplets,
shiny red, dangle
over the dark,
still eyelids.
Something escapes through
the slashes in the solemn brow
like vapor or
a fetus.
A sharp stone finishes
the last ring around
the skull,
framing the head like a crown,
or like a garland of thorns.
1998
Holly Shaw
Lady,
pick up your handkerchief
and breathe
deeply of its scent
as he turns and retrieves
his muddy cape lying
between you.
1998
Holly Shaw
The girl is immersed
in a pool of strangers.
Trips to the bathroom and out
for a smoke
are the times when she breathes.
The times when she comes up for air.
This evening is the wave
that wrecks the largest ships,
the one that travels shore to shore
shoving everything under
its massive lapping
tongue.
It pulls her under
and she chokes on the saltiness
of the artificial
Pringle plastered smiles
that surround her.
Eyes ogle at her, huge and round.
There is something fishy
about their unwillingness
to blink.
They toss their fins
and glide past.
She wades out
dripping with ooziness
of their small-talk,
goosebumps covering her,
rising like the voices
which soar higher. Seagulls
chatter their wings
competing for the dry
space in the sun.
She resigns.
She knows the wings are fake
and will only melt into air
up above.
She stays grounded
water lifting off of her
with time.
Mud clings to her feet
from an evening of grasping
for a bottom, clutching
to save herself
with her toes.
1998
Holly Shaw
Go back to my friend's poetry
Go to my poetry
Meet my sister, Holly
Go home