Infinity
Somewhere along the line,
the big zero of time was twisted
at the waist to become an eight.
An hourglass of days, slipping slow
from the top, then fast below the belt.
Is it providence, or a lemniscate of fate?
I like to think of myself as a verb
and not the object. Chop-chop!
I wait the hours. I empty my head of winter.
I am frightened by other people’s fears,
but not of the eight, not of the hourglass of days.
Poetic Justice
It started like a guilty thing.
I won’t pretend it was accidental.
He turned and I was lost.
Frost knit his eyebrows,
my lashes. We spit in the gorge
for luck; it landed broadside
on stones and ice. His people
are big spitters; they spit for fate,
mine spit for hate. This was no
dicey romance; what happened
to me, happened to him.
Angels have a way of knowing
things; they spit an avalanche
the day he kissed me in the snow.
Ignition
Take me fast, quiet,
two guards at every door.
Wrap me tight in your extravagant
straitjacket where the strangling
is clean and silent, since when I kiss,
it will not be as a sister.
You have seen my complete dossier;
I would have made a great man,
but I am a woman, subtle,
but effective. Do not toss
me, deranged, in your landfill.
It is more palatable to give me
something rich and strange,
tribal, like a Viking funeral.
Tess Kincaid
© 2010
Thank you for showcasing some of my work, John. xx
ReplyDeleteHi Tess: You're welcome. Your poetry really has moved by leaps & bounds--you're doing good work.
ReplyDeleteI'd only seen one of these, the second, previously, so had the privilege of having my mind blown twice. I found the last one both mentally and physically seductive beyond words. Thanks for the feature.
ReplyDeleteHi Hedgewitch: Thanks for taking the time to stop in here & comment on Tess' poems. She's doing some good work indeed!
ReplyDeleteI have read the last two before...possibly commented on them back at Willow Manor, but the first is new to me, and oh, so delicious. I especially like "slipping slow from the top, then fast below the belt." You DO have a way with words, Tess Kincaid! Thanks, John!
ReplyDeleteI realize I neglected to comment on these very fine poems of Tess Kincaid's.
ReplyDeleteShe has such a way of drawing you into her spell, almost the way she weaves the words, intricately. It's as if she has a spool stored away and unravels them as she needs them. I am happy to follow her threads, every time.
Kat
Please insert "comma" after the word "almost" in the above comment. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI agree, Kat, and I should note since I'm here that "I am frightened by other people’s fears,
ReplyDeletebut not of the eight, not of the hourglass of days" is one beautifully expressed thought!
Hi Kat & Carolina: So happy to see you coming round to enjoy Tess' poems. Thanks so much for the support!
ReplyDelete