Thursday, April 21, 2016

Ode to the Peacemaker

You send your laughter through the room
paired with perfume designed to diffuse
and I wonder how you manage
to arrive always at the point of ignition.
Beauty clings to you
the way a nursery lamp holds
the last drops of sunset the dark night long.
Any other woman would bring
a hint of gunpowder with her:
the potential for fireworks.
For all your glowing light,
I've never seen you spark.
You take your translucent joy
defuse the room, dampen the cynic blades
and suddenly we are determined
to glisten in your shadow.
Shine on, sweet lady, show the way
peace in your hand and love in your wake.

Changing the tempo

The boy turns my belly
into a drum
beating against its swell
with pudgy fists.
He delights in its vibrations
striking my thighs
to watch them shake.
In all its motion
he is absorbed:
an explorer testing
the outside of the universe
and measuring its edge.

I want to tell him
that he made me stretch
into a swelling horizon,
how the tight skin ridges
that make him giggle
were mountain ranges formed
by his tectonic dance.
Some days I want to accuse
his bursting frame
for the way that t-shirts cling
and my occasional grief in
harshly lit changing rooms.

But in the face of his joy
I have no response
because of all the bodies he loves
mine is the one he knows best
the taste and scent and sound
of all I am
for all his life
has been safety, strength, and home.
So I'll sing along to the rhythm he finds
in the softness of my skin
and feel the glory grow
in the reflection of his eyes.