Jealousy in a White Bowl

This white bowl
filled with sugar

jealousy
is the rotten tooth
in the mouth 
of love

flouncing
consummation

inter-dimensional
face-slapping

I'm through
I'm through

you've said
it
over 
and 
over

but you're not through
no one is ever through

until

the truth slips down
a silken rope

kissing every hurt
forgiving every
misconception

impartial
unrelenting

including
everything

including
everyone

nothing
no one
is
left out.

After

After everyone
has gone home

I'll still be here

after all of the candles
on the cake
have been blown out

after the color red
is known as blue

after inertia
stills
the spinning top

after every form of perversion
has scanned its prey

after the wolves fall
from dancing in the snow

after the vapor trail
vanishes

who is here?

after all that is countable
is counted

after trust turns
to disbelief

after sweetness
can't be tasted

after you forget
the meaning
of the word love

I'm with you

after your name
is no longer
recognizable

after your steps leave
no mark

after every form
of knowledge
has failed you

after all
after this
after, after, after.

I'm here
steadfast
I stay.

This Beautiful Music

Here is a crumpled-up old man
he is spewing out his
words o' wisdom

sick fog
of

belief

you ask him a few questions

ringing
in the back of your head
"respect your elders",

he seems to know this
and is delighted

off he goes . . .

misguided
ignorant
crap

some plagiarism

drone
drone

I am
remembering
the Asian lady

who rushed to
hold the grocery store door
open
for
an old woman
hunched over
moving
very
painfully
slowly

I'm thinking of
my adopted
Grandma

making short
shadows
in the night-lit streets
as we children walked her home
laughing
reciting in German
her cherished nursery rhymes
. . . "Backe, Backe, Kuchen!"

I can still smell the stale-old cookies
pulled from
who only knows
how many years
up on the shelf
in one old neighbor's house

and the sharp contrast
of the brand-new candy
crackling cellophane
fresh chocolate
bought and presented
at Christmas time
by another

wrinkled
red-faced nuns
screaming
for the love of . . .
for you kids to be quiet!
Stop that noise!!!

the old man
selling his wares
his potted violets
in the back of his truck
who ran to give one
to a ten-year old girl
because her eyes
matched her hair.

Grandparents
walking hand in hand

selfless acts
respectful silences

I am bouncing to the mailbox
a stranger
maybe ten years my senior
stops me with a stare:
"You won't believe how fast it all passes, just wait , you'll be here before you know it"

sort of her curse
and her lament
at the same time

"Ya" I say , "hope to be",(ten years older that is) wish you a good day
stopped forcing the "have" onto people

judgement
retribution
karma
reconciliation

I am watching you the best that I can
and trying hard
to listen


as you must have done.


Because, even now
I am still discovering
this in us


this beautiful music

that can and does
with its graceful abandon

stop me in my tracks
in time
to

form its ageless symphony.

The Sunny States

When you are here
for the first time

the palms trees
and blue skies

sunny weather
of
all possibilites


knocks your socks off

then

slowly
you become jaded

fluourescent lights
replace sunshine

hopes and dreams
are realized
or cancelled out

you can't settle down
into them


everywhere you look
are strip malls
fast food chains

and wild-eyed men
hunkering down
in corners
with carefully leashed
libidos

you consider the idea
of snow

of unformed friendships
creating
islands
and safe harbors

layer by layer
the beauty unwinds

you are afraid
to look into the core
of it
those stories
of Medusa

maybe
you'd like to warm up
but
how to unfreeze
becomes
the ridiculous question

you're smart enough
now
to walk slow

why wear yourself
out

to run in a circle

still it's familiar territory
as you stroll
past
yet another
glorious/wretched palm tree.

Copyright, Mary Rollins.
All Rights Reserved by Author.