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A poem

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Photo by Yuval Levy on Unsplash

you awaken to a house
purpled by the twilight
and the ceiling clicks from
its silver latch
before your eyes
rounded jaws begin to spin
a water wheel of singular
top of the scale notes
slowly at first, a familiar
but unrecognizable melody
comes into focus and it sounds
like childhood ending
melancholy and expectant
as a swing returns to dangle
on a rusted chain
the notes, so high begin
to clink faster, and you
clench your teeth into
a frozen smile, a permanent
wince from the tone
so close, so on top of you
smothering you by sound
and you finally have enough
momentum to turn away
you try to lift your hands
to cover your ears, but
they are already high above
reaching for the slanted stars
your finger tips, posed in an O
feel strung together, woven
by fibers that are of you but
seem all wrong, and you pick up
speed and see your feet from
some peripheral vision
you are on point, on point
maddening cramps from toe
to arch to shin to thigh and
is that a ballet outfit, a tutu
the tulle and gauze, the exact
shade of lavender you’d wished
your heart out for so long ago
the metal jaws face you again
churning sound — a crunch and twist
you turn away by luck or fate
dizzy from this involuntary pirouette
just when the agony of being glued
weighs your soul against the light
the music cuts, and by a hinge
you are folded into peace
to rest in the darkness
of your carved wooden box. …


A poem

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Photo by Matt Flores on Unsplash

give up your tax evasion
climb down the golden stairs
the veneer is chipped
and I hope you (don’t) trip
over phantom sneers and glares

give up the rude behavior
climb off your air-force one
take off your disguise
and open your eyes
to all of the damage done

give up, you bossy bully
climb up the wagon stairs
as you ride off to trial
begging pardon or exile
you’ll find that no one really cares

© Samantha Lazar 2020


Sky Collection — Poem 115

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Photo by Arie Wubben on Unsplash

up before roosters
and I want to scream
wake up roosters
here is your warning bell
but then I’m masked
and shaking confusion
still feeling the emotions
tied to abandonment dreams
repeating dreams
he cheats and lies
and begs me to stay
it’s the same familiar schema
a shame-guilt-fear-depression
concoction with different hair
and I’m awake but in a trance
I want to cut it all off
start over or press
the mystery bruise,
yellowing now,
to measure the pain
come on interpreters
mark on your chart
the viscosity of depression
check my dosage
put your pen in your mouth
ponder the pressure of discord
between waking and sleep
my son says my healing cuts
look like potato eyes
he’s not wrong

Samantha Lazar 2020

About

Samantha Lazar

Poetry, fiction, and essays in celebration of being a Mom, Wife, Educator, Writer, & Lover of Life.

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