USA

dtanoury@hotmail.com 

Breath

In the dim lit alchemy of morning
I have come to stand near the counter 
In the quiet of a house asleep
And listen to the drip coffee maker 
That resembles apothecary apparatus
As it makes the sounds of labored respiration
A loud sigh 
A deep inhale
A long and lingering exhale
And it called to mind
My father breathing
Before he died

The rasping movement of air
Deep in the throat
A wheezing in the air passage
That at times
Borders on a low whisper
And sometimes a shrill whistle
And I see whiteness of the coffee maker
And the glass that catches the first
Weak light of sunrise
All the medical apparatus
That steams and heats and

Speaks with the last words
My father uttered
That was more a bubbling of liquid
And movement of air
Than the words of the well
That are formed by lips
And shaped by tongue 
This to you now 
Is my lesson in voice
Which at times becomes 
The same as breath

-Doug Tanoury 8-12-00

Lilac Glaze
(An Avon Poem)

In the black and white
Of early memory
The lilacs bloom gray
Across the drabness
Of a yard without color
Where grass needs cutting
And a kennel full of dog shit
Needs cleaning

Under the grayscale sky
Of pale recollection
The lilacs bloom dull monochrome
Without fragrance
And each leaf is frozen forever
In the profound stillness
Of a childhood memory 
Distant and colorless

-Doug Tanoury 9-16-00

Threshold

In the threshold of dissolution and decay
Decomposition and death
So dense and deep
In the blackness of a jaw agape
A mouthful of darkness 
Holding all the "Oh nO's"
And assorted exclamations
Of a multitude of days
An eternity of nights
Where bedsheets are shrouds
And each sofa a sarcophagus
Lit only by the shadows flickering
From television screens left on 
And unwatched in the middle of the night
Broadcast a twilight over sleeping
Figures and forms that move in 
The slow and unconscious movements
Of a leg stirring or a hand twitching 

And if I slip into the anti-light
I will dream origami gulls
Hovering on unmoving wings and
Soaring under stained-glass skies
High above the acid-etch of frosted tips 
On white capped waves
And my ears will fill with Bach 
Concertos and preludes and fugues
And I will dream the marble of 
Bare breasts and ass
The slightest curves of softest lines
And breathe the scent of her skin
As I sleep forever 
Dreaming in her arms

-Doug Tanoury 9-10-00   

© All Copyright, Doug Tanoury.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.