Poetry

The Argotist Online

Home Articles Interviews Poetry Features Ebooks Submissions Links

REBECCA LU KIERNAN

Rebecca Lu Kiernan has published in MS. Magazine, Asimov's Science Fiction, North American Review and numerous books and magazines in the U.S. and Australia. Her first collection of poetry, Sex With Trees and Other Things Equally Responsive was published by 2 River Press. Canada's Ygdrasil published her erotic fiction, The Man Who Remembered Too Much. She was nominated for the Rhysling award for When a Snake Bites You in the Ass.

JEPATIO STREET, 15

(Face)

In every city block,

In every country garden,

In circus tents and dark martini bars,

I look for your face

Turning again to me.

I look to the light

Of Bellatrix,

To the valleys of fractured moons,

For the next earth-crosser

To mercifully wipe out everything,

The restaurant where Andy Warhol

Did that sketch of us laughing,

My hand on your heart,

Your fingers in my hair.

At the art festival, jazz recital,

Mardi gras,

Even at the funeral,

I listen for your voice,

The way you say my name

Tremulous and full of prayer,

'The sing-song way you laugh

When you have been outdone

In a midnight game of Boggle.

I tell myself

We will never meet again

While remaining vigilant

In case you ride your Harley

Down our street

In unfamiliar clothes.

I look for your face.

It's always in my hands.

JEPATIO STREET, 16

(Nightmare on J Street)

There was a flight suit in a duffle bag,

There was a cake in the kitchen

which we ate separately

after plucking out

unlit candles.

There was a star named after you.

"Unwrap the shirt,

but throw away the card."

I said.

The coordinates were inside.

There was a tremor of revenge

And a breath of reconsideration.

There was a throat-clearing of compassion

And the stiff upper lip

Of steadfast decision.

There was an elegant, grey dog

Crashing her head through the windshield

When you slammed on your brakes

To say you didn't love me

anymore.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel,

headlights of a runaway train.

There was an attempted electrocution,

the smell of burning flesh,

A slow crucifixion,

a prayer for death.

It was a freak show of a nightmare

of a circus.

There was drunken prostitution,

Psy ops and high level espionage

And in the slumber after our most idiotic crime,

a terrible confession.

There was a diary of events

Which I put in the hangman's hands.

I'll never forget, he pulled it to his chest,

Pushed it back to me,

Asked if I was sure.

As seven weeks of misery

Went up in razor grey smoke,

I let go of the most destructive element,

hope.

I reached for him

And said I made a mistake.

He said nothing was wrong with my love.

He said, "This man has been an imposter

on a professional level.

A few pieces of burning paper

Shot up like mardi gras confetti

And there was an unsettling pop.

I pressed my face

To his brown paisley shirt

And said I meant

seven years ago.

We stood in the doorway

Of wasted time

Not knowing whether to go

Back to the safety of the rich cherry woods,

The sea foam green house of lilac candles

And late night lemon chicken,

or into the new light

That starkly showed the damage

of all those years apart.

JEPATIO STREET, 17

(A Pilot's Dream)

I tell the wreck of you

Half asleep under damp cobalt sheets,

In the lavender calm of the hunter's moon

Through our noisy new curtain of beads,

I whisper in a language

You will know

When my clothes have vanished

From your closet,

How fine it is to love someone

(even you)

So unselfishly. (Thanks.)

I didn't know I had it in me.

There is gravity and earth's rotation

And other unseen forces

We take for granted.

There are lilies breathless

In the window box

Under the weight of March

Coming in like a lion,

Going out like avalanche ice

Though a single rain drop

Would suffice.

Lightning never strikes twice.

As for the new guy,

I never touch his face.

He doesn't have a clue

That I'm a poet

(or know my real name).

I tell myself

One more anniversary without you

Will break the spell,

Ten more orgasms on his face.

Fishing trip, deep sea,

I catch a baby black tip shark

And a worthless sea robin.

A friend asks why the new lover isn't invited.

I say he's a vampire and can't take the sun.

No earthly thing will break the spell.

It seems my love is stronger

Than a can of worms,

A crown of bees,

Your secret that I would protect

With my life.

Sometimes I stalk our old street

For the smell of some flower or weed

In shades of lightning or avalanche.

(you stood transfixed in the Walmart aisle

deciding between those deodorant scents,

then we bought butterflied pork chops,

valentine cards for the kids

and banana split fixings)

Angels look away, the devil grins.

Sailboats are lost on your shirt

But you wear it so comically well,

The crisp navy of snap decision,

The razor grey of hell.

Your engine is making a terrible sound.

Sleep, pilot, sleep,

My arms are open wide

And the water is warm

And you and I both know

Nothing else is left

That feels this much like home.