Records in the Snow (reposted from 09/2012)

Records in the Snow

By

Lisa A.Williams

                   

Mother-

thin blood

between us.

Fathers-

one stood by,

one abandoning

his absence

always feeding

a green need.

Cast into the cold,

we found our music-

45’s

haphazardly tossed

like Frisbees,

landing upright

in a dead of winter snow,

our treasure creating

a warmer air

between us.

Rushing in

to hear old songs-

“Hey Paula”,

our first discovery

followed by

The Tokens

and their sleepy lion

then the Beatles asking

                                                                  if we “want to know

a secret”

and did we “promise

not to tell?”

Girlish giggles

filled the tiny room.

For a short time,

we were bonded

by our love for the music,

only for it to be consumed

by old hurt’s homecoming.

I wonder

after all this time,

if she still remembers

the records in the snow?

There is a Window

There is a Window

By

Lisa A.Williams

In my house

there is a window,

murky with doubt

and duty.

I know there is something

beyond the pane

so clear, revealing itself

to my half closed lids.

Fear filled years

to wipe it clean

and see beyond.

So tainted by debris,

the time consuming task seemed

endless

but I grew tired of dreaming

wishing to see

all that I had missed.

A rain of words-

some following a thunder

deluged,

I refused to sink-

and tasted truth,

seeing my reflection

In The Doorway

In The Doorway

By

Lisa A.Williams

The masses,

cloaked in ritzy black

passing without

notice-

 Girl in the doorway

 beautiful face

bathed in addiction.

 Staring

at the life not hers-

 huddled in embryonic loss

shivering in

 December’s cold embrace,

thirsty veins in want

of Utopia.

Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis

By

Lisa A.Williams

And so we stand

facing each other

ghosts haunting our past

fear lingering

in the dark of ourselves.

Years have made us strong

we embrace it all-

the old we couldn’t let go of,

the new which

 fills us with hesitation.

We sift through all

 those days we

 breathed away,

scattering ourselves

to a merciless wind

who will transform us-

                                                                    in spite of ourselves.

Says The Moon

Says The Moon

By
Lisa A.Williams

I will tell-

says the moon

of

the beginning,

of rising seas with

 their hungry waves

 lapping thunderous tongues

 once tasting

 sweet, salty earth.

Now

earth cries tainted tears

darkened by

 the greed growing shadows 

of more..

Her core hollowed soul

tired of giving,

weeps poison

                                                                    tasted in silence

Stain

Stain

By

Lisa A.Williams

Hands-

dirty

no pureness

could erase.

Eyes-

tired,

dark

remnants

from so  

many years

in the confines

of a modern day

sweatshop

 The bitterness

of regret

for seizing

a livelihood

which beckoned death

with each passing year.

The wood-

its smoothness,

 bathed

in the dark stain

of pretty poison

summons the riches

of buyers

who wish

to lavish homes

with the labor

of

a poor man’s hands.

Another man gives

up the ghost

amidst toxic

occupation

to feed a family

he leaves behind.  

His passing

haunts his child’s heart.

Another man dies

in his living,

this time, it is my father.

The Skin You Don't Know

The Skin You Don’t Know

By

Lisa A. Williams

Wear it gently-

Feel its unfamiliar sheath-

Hold

the one it was born to,

in all its keloidal ache, and

need.

Savor timeless

brine

trickling down, crimson faces

 burnt by enduring

 winds.

Wear it

until it molds to the shape

of all it must embrace.