Someone Please Name This No

Sometimes the feeling lingers.
The sneaking suspicion that everyone knows
I’m a poet.

On the street, people walk without slowing.
The crowds surround but never kiss.
Women don’t stop to love me.

On the bus, no one wants the adjacent seat.
Reaching Boston, nothing holds my hand.
I’m too ugly even for Boston.

Above, the sun is awkward and on its way out.
Children pretend everything is all right; fool around.
Pigeons only eat crumbs if I throw them.

I can feel myself flaking.
Every night I wait for a limb to abandon me.
Every morning, the same thoughts huddle in the sheets.

Poetry is leprosy.
Loneliness is waking
and knowing where you are.

Cafe

A dangerous delirium:
Her mouth mere inches from mine,
Smell of lilies hanging
On the delicate ridges of her collarbone.
She inhales,
And when she exhales,
The smell of smoke taints her breath.

Rising to leave,
I stumble,
Lightheaded.
Her hands catch me, lingering on my waist
A few seconds longer than necessary.

Even as she lets go,
My body holds on to the feeling.
Phantom hands
That capture me
Willingly.

-anna

February25poem: Not Waving

You see
That side-to
Side
Movement I’ve been
jerking, that
Seaweed in eddies, buffeted
Dogwood, thrashing of arms Side-
To-side twisting of my trunk with
shoulders above my ears – It’s not
waving – it’s
god help me,
It’s - take notice, it’s -
I’ve made blood happen in the bathtub -
It’s - I’m clawing -
It’s - I’ve sunk into the bile pit
Of my own stomach, I’m bogged in crude
Oil like an egret,
The feathers are slick - I’m
sliding

-Rae