THE MEANING OF IVY
Anna, where did
the tabbies go?
They're listening to jasmine
and passing the thyme...
Rosemary, tell me what you remember.
Forbidden Cabala,
my hands--the grime...
Susannah, the glow round your door, what was it?
Rotting wood, mold,
phosphorescence and lime...
How will
we live with posies scattered,
maidenheads broken
as plague tides rise?
How will we laugh when our children are burning
malaise in
bonfires
that brighten their eyes?
Josephine, tell me, where is your husband?
Which one? Does it matter?
He dies, then he dies.
Ivy, what does your name mean?
It means, "I die where I cling."
© 2001 Suellen Luwish
MISSING MOONBEAM
She arrived from silence,
homeless, perhaps abandoned,
meowing for a meal, a word,
a hand. She had yearning eyes,
as if she'd been loved, or unloved.
She was all colors combined,
like an absence of shadows,
and so I called her Moonbeam.
Her eyes remembered somewhere
else, and made me
imagine
green awnings. And now she's
gone, feline and sudden,
among evening's dark draperies.
Found once and lingering,
longing for old
porches and cracked
promises, she slips away while
no one is looking. Missing,
she leaves me a puzzle unsolved
by dawn, calling Moonbeam where
windows open on happy endings.
© 2000 Suellen Luwish
Courtesy by Suellen Luwish
eMail:
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication (including graphics) may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage or retrieval system now known
or to be invented without permission in writing from the publisher.