Poet's Showcase; Corinna and Kevin Richards
Dust
my fingerprints aren't
on the mirror
any longer
pieces of him
in the frames
my gifts
in another lifetime
i am no longer
the dust in this place
where the doors
always flew open
that breeze finally
blew me from it
with me flying behind me
sometimes looking back to it
where the doors have gone shut
for now
the space filled with another's
dust on the mirrors
and the smudges
of different fingerprints
K. Richards
Waste
The light spilling over the window sill
reminds me to turn over
before I see it pool in the sheets
where emptiness lies.
Each morning I am beside myself.
Shadows are newly poured
around my face and body
filling all crevices
and hardening to crust.
Afternoons only defer nightfall.
Movements are matchsticks
snapping with flintless tinderness
until I splinter.
And from these pieces
grow thornflowers for a desert.
C. Richards
She is…
Making love to the dustpile
She is
He is
More ashes than rising
a million miles from Phoenix
dancing apart
and away
at the slightest breeze
through tiny cracks
She is
Closing the windows
and still
losing little pieces as he
somehow manages to scatter
She is
Sweeping him back together
using the broom she borrowed from…
oh, you know where
She is
Now staring at the pile
each time diminished
and I guess
She is
Waiting for the rising
K. Richards
Past the Post
It wasn't even a letter.
Just a solitary line
but it flew between us
it's question hooking
into your warm flesh,
and I see something
uncovered.
You are fastforwarded
with an unfamiliar
intensity.
Who are you?
It isn't me
ripping you to fervor.
We smooth over each other
marking an unbrokensurface.
You harden for me,
but that one line,
opened you up wide
and made me afraid
of looking in.
C. Richards
