February 3rd and 4th

Feb. 3rd Space to Breathe

he rails against my need
for a bit of space
some air I can inhale on
my own and during the act
of breathing out and in and out
again, some solitary
moments to study my
aging face in the mirror

I cannot understand
the origin of such need
in this case
his need to possess
me wholely, body and soul
every thought, every breath
every movement
in every moment
every moment
in every day

his barbed wire words folllow me
to the close of the bathroom
door and there in
the tiny closet of water
the gently rocking boat, tethered,
in the harbor, the Florida night
heavy around me, I lock
the door, create this space
this time to escape need.


Feb. 4th MOrning without Horses

I imagine they are stirring
in the long row of stalls
beneath the rush
of barn swallows
in this first light that spreads
across the eastern hemisphere
on an Monday morning

I imagine their throaty calls
stall to stall, some guttural
grumbling akin to the rumbling
purr that cats make,
some long echoes
coming from the long stretch of neck
extended to the sky

Jeanie with her wheel barrow full of hay
her order of delivery,
a sort of room service
in a motel of horses

I imagine the warm, musky
scent of them, leather and
horses, burying my face
against the neck of my favorite
just breathing in the stillness,
the bond

today I will pull on shorts
rub in sunscreen lotion
walk to breakfast
beneath palm trees
explore the decadence
that is NAples in Florida
and dance the night
away beneath a sequined sky

and all the while
I will be the odd girl out
homesick for horses.

by karen saint

Day 4 anna kiss

home is where the horror is

there exists a movement
in this house
between the things
in the air
a fluctuation
of goodvibe badvibe

the heebeejeebees
wiggle
inspire shivers down spines
and general fear-stricken
moments of paralysis
wherein
nothing moves at all.

I wish I could say
it were different
but truth
knots my stomach
and churns my bile

the heating ducts
blow dry
to curl skin up at its edges
creasing every fault line
deeply embedded in knuckles
deeper
it gusts the stale stench
of land-locked negotiations
so each moment of despair
leads each moment of happiness
along by the teeth

it is an unsteady existence
marred by the perpetual
wavering of design and objective
and held uncertainly
by fools.

Day 4 Mary

Friends Meeting

Out of the silence
A solemn voice speaks
Pretentiously pacifistic
Not so much a message of peace
As an attack of anti-war

Quietly I contemplate
Keeping in the spirit
Struggling to accept
That this announcement
Was heaven led

Maybe it’s not so much
That I need to understand
Each word is no more sacred
Here, there or anywhere
I should simply listen to them all

Day 3 anna kiss

"flames, on the side of my face"

i am pulled under,
pushed into tight boxes,
rooms crowded full of darkness, nothing,
aching bones and singed tissue
bridges collapse
beneath crashing fists
i move forward and on,
healing not

i become lost for words
can only slam doors.
there is no reason to it
your academic prowess
withers in the face of
seething, frothing vitriol
there is no debate
there is only the notion
of shattered glass
and great, echoing silences.

Day 3 Mary

Ode to TVland

There once was a show called Bonanza
A gunfighting extravaganza
Who was the boss?
Little Joe or Hoss
Or could it be Tony Danza?

2 poems, February 1 and 2

February 1st Florida Poem

he says, "expect it, prepare for it, pack for it,
what do you want?! It's February in florida!"
he revels in the fact
there isn't snow, no misery of the inclement
nature of winter Cleveland weather
nothing can compare
nothing gets better
than February Florida

his gestures scream happy-ness
he gets giddy, gets theatrical
happily theatrical
theatrically happy
he dances down streets
across parking lots

the weather
apparently
sets the stage for a life
dictates the quality of a life
how could I have lived this long and not known?

he leaves me baffled
staring at my open mouth
in the boat house mirror
passer-bys with eyes averted
staring into the sun
believers in weather
the goodness of weather
they are the chosen in the promised land

how could I have ever known
the good life
lies below the frost line?

Karen Saint

February 2nd Deja Vu

he seems too comfortable
squeezing in between
2 young blonde things at
the Long House Bar, high-top-table

she stands purposely tall
behind him, a rush of blood pinking
her cheeks, leans forward to place
her hand on the table

between him and the 2 blonde things
her left hand
with the 2 rings on the designated
finger, clears her throat

he straightens a bit in his suit
his tie, and says, "this is Shannon
and Cookie" before leaning his head
back into the blonde conversation

next door is a drug store where
she finds an old flame
lays down next to him on a
mattress in the middle of nowhere

there is no going back
she doesn't recognize his scent
his hands are foreign objects
the pressure is all wrong

later, she irons ripped jeans
a faded dust-blue cotton
shirt, they are man clothes
she swims in them

they begin the dance of musical beds
but she never takes off her clothes
says, "I have been here before"

the fear wells up in her
shakes her, wakes her
beside the man she calls
husband
and when she moves
in sleep, he holds her
awake
her sigh of relief, audible.

karen saint

Day 2 anna kiss

the birth

the thing to do
the fury of rubber and asphalt hum
rocking stirring
going -
it is all finite within the abyss
while out the navel springs the universe,
its stars suspended light in blue eyes
its scope immense and holy
the heart cannot beat its rhythm any better
than first kisses
and your tiny body bathed in moonlight
I can only walk each step and breathe each sigh
and live with hope
gifted me by babies
and sunshine burst from out the clouds.

I can only carry the weight of so much life
breaking from somewhere beyond me,
glowing your skull like a halo,
the sheer mass of so much bliss
is too much to bear,
it blinds me
creases the folds of my cheeks
well past their usual span,
crushes my hands to my chest in exultation

the ecstasy of your borning
is the obvious outcome written on your face
it is beyond plans fulfilled
and lists checked -
it is the purity of having done
and being not bound by earth
and its foolish gravity.

-anna kiss