USA

mcstahl@mindspring.com

Diamonds

After-rain air is soft against my face, warm,
and oh my skin aches in gratitude and thirst.
Everything is grey and brown except
the lake, brown-green, a kind of ease against
the spastic wrench of muscle ripped from ribs.

I dream my daughter dead, of keening,
burial and unburying; fingerclaws of earth
unearth her—her face still beautiful—and
with mad, delicate turns unfasten diamonds
from her ears and hold their light.

I say the words, “I have no daughter”
and I cannot breathe.

"Red Candle”

I wind a blood-red ribbon
round my hair; fasten small square
rubies to the roundness of my ears;
my shirt, a crimson pile, breasts bare
beneath,
against
the phantom coolness of your hands.

Speak to me.

You pull your collar up against
the teeth of winter air; steel
yourself, fortify, resolve
to catch the early train, and stare
sightless,
helpless
but for the rose petal caress your heart withstands.

Say my name

© All Copyright, Maryanne Stahl.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.