He.
fears waking to blank mornings
the empty apartment
a white-clothed table set for one
the growl of silence, a crescendo
as the callous clock marks time like a metronome
for his body to breathe alone in rooms
where memories glare from picture frames
going months without touch—
only handshakes and jostled shoulders in crowds
watching the youthful world pass below
from his balcony, the mass of unknown bodies
commuting, eating, cursing, flirting, living their lives
indifferent to him, watering his begonias above them
the television’s blare, a kind of desperation
for the missing voices, for the chaos of life
and ending his nights beneath cool sheets
un-warmed by the naked brown limbs
of a woman.
She.
suffers from too much presence
the mind aches for solitude
living in a house full of need
she is consumed daily, like bread
people need her hands to do things:
objects must be lifted, chopped, poured
cloth must be folded, water boiled in pots
toilets unplugged
the voice desires to withdraw
but is always drawn out by her tongue
by gymnastics of inane conversation
the predictable things that must be said
she would give anything
to watch, unencumbered, the sunrise
to sit in her chair without moving her arms
making it to the bottom of her coffee cup
to its earthy black grounds
yearning for a day stretched out before her, free of tasks
mind withdrawn into symbol
to spend the afternoon swimming in watercolor
to picnic with God and the hummingbird
to float in the watery coolness of Bach’s flute
instead her mind is pulled, reluctant, like a donkey
into the prosaic, the practical – the planning of meals
the commutes, the doctor’s calls
the waking up and putting to bed
why can’t she live for one day in the poem
she no longer desires youth, but craves old age
when for once, she might wake to an empty house
and fall to sleep under cool sheets.
-- Second place finalist, Poetry Society of Virginia 2024 Contest, Family Relationships
