Thunderstorm
did you come
with the storm tonight
combing through the leaves
pressing against my trees vexed
and restless as I am, sleeping
in this unkempt room—our bedroom,
I cannot clean a single thing—if I did
I would erase you, erase the line
you walked night after night before
softly dying beside me, in this bed
our bed that looks like a dilapidated nest
with no eggs, just scented strands of your
scent still here in the isolated space
between our pillows, there a portrait of you lay
where I place my lips and cry until I feel no pain
Sanctuary
you came to me like fertile
tides from the Nile River
your head crashed between my knees
low and soft we moved across the night
before drowning in a pool
of our own shadows strewn across the bed
we slept as ‘spirits folded in a womb’
until curtains of golden light crept
through our window and the song of the lark
filtered out the last star
Imagine
there was war
wounded
& wild
I followed the sound
of leaves running from wind
we were both running from something…
we laid between trunks
of poached trees
our limbs tied in knots
showered in moonlight
there was a moist cloth
hanging in the distant abyss
there we wiped our tears
Pain travels in packs…
even from the window
of the woods
…a forecast of bruiselike blues
and cold light loomed
we walked along the rim
of winter where I found
a feather from a red-tail hawk
I held it out to you like a lit match
…a second chance extended to you
Bionote
Serena Wilcox is the author of Sacred Parodies. (Ziggurat Books International) She has literary work published in Ann Arbor Review, BlazeVox, Word Riot, and many other publications. She was recently nominated for Dancz Best of the Web 2011.
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