A Push to Wait

                                                                                  Lips welcoming a touch-

                                                                              I graze them with my finger tips-

                                                                                  A dimple set in my cheek.

                                                                          The mirror reflects unblemished skin,

                                                                  Shoulder length blue black hair, filled with tight curls

                                                                                    Dad made me promise,

                                                                        Keep blistered, rough hands out the parts;

 

                                                            Never touches below the chest, always arms length, differ yourself.

                                        I keep walking along the crest of the blue green waters, the sand meshes inward between my toes…

                                                                                              *****

                                                  Echoes of angry phrases bounce off the wall and pierce my eardrums

                                                          Drops of sadness fill the irises and ducts of my brown eyes.

                    Memories of promises unfulfilled, consistent late hours- I wait at the table by the candlelight with cold beans and wilted salad.

                                                      The clock strikes twelve midnight. Why did I say yes to him?

    How much death to self is required before world’s part? Loving memories, are they enough to keep the joy when coldness start to fill the heart?                           

                                A curve forms as light reflect on the hanging photo of the happy day of vows declaring our love six years ago.

                                                                                The phone rings…

                                                                                            *****

                                                Sunlight presses against forehead as memories of each baby pain reoccurs,

                                                        I clutch my navel and stroke the raised line flowing across.

                A curve upturn on the lips, reliving the picnics at the park, chasing the ducks, barbecues with dad’s special secret seasoning.

                    The nights when a surprise head of hair with small fingers would lift the covers with words 'scared mommy' and lay a head on my chest…

A distant runner presses close, displacing water and concentration with every step; stops with a greeting, his withered hand reaches out to twirl a gray                                                                                       strand of curl… I love you still Patience.