Memories by Jason Deiss

Black and violet yarn

drapes over shoulders,

around knees,

pinned beneath bare feet.


Luminous glass darkens,

letting streaks of shadow play

through the window.

Even the clock’s lime hum

is silent.


Overhead rumble announces rain.

Beneath me,

a more ambivalent storm

rattles memories in glass houses.


Legs unfurl,

slowly carry me

to the window.

Fingers stretch to chilled glass.


A glimpse.

Rolling blacks and grays

mute the long strand of houses,

distorting windows and doors

into eyes and teeth

that parade into oblivion.



this is where I’ve always been.


an invitation home.


I’d rather not.


Fingers drop from damp glass

to wooden rectangle.

They close,

dragging the photograph close.


Back on the couch, I examine the captive.

Once-blue eyes laugh

at an inside joke.

My lips curl,

and we wait out the storm.

Categories: Issue 2 - Spring 2012, Periodicals, Poetry | Tags: | Leave a comment

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