WEDNESDAY

I saw your ghost in the traffic light
and God, I trusted you
when I was punctuation
and everyone left me out
of their sentences

The silhouette of heat
so green-eyed
and usual like the flick of a cigarette
or those raindrops
that fell on your glasses
later

They were the best part

She didn’t know
I could see her from the window
Marlboro Lights and Crabtree and Evelyn
marinating the car
She still doesn’t know that I love
or that when the sand shifts with the tide, I
fall through the cavities
I lose my dress for the sake of loss and I pray
Oh I pray to someone, anyone
that that traffic light will never change

because

My ghost love
does not break the silence but rather
writes his name in it effortlessly
with my hand
and it is red

Julie L. Mazza (TornScorpio)

MAYBE IT’S THAT

You divide bugs and leaves
beneath your light, interrupting
patterns of lines and splotches.

A hummingbird suckles its flower,
a button covers its hole, fingertips
press ten others, your hands ball up.

I’m laughing like I’m stuck in a photo
unable to return to a calm chuckle.

I don’t need
to pick up the phone,
to wait for release
from waiting.

I have it,
whatever it is,
and it isn’t moving.

Jacob Jans (boplicity)

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Poems entered from About Poetry Forum, 2001