fictive beat

W/O/M/A/N
gone into abstraction
gitane smoke before the rain,
cello case velvet interior
soft and firm

W/O/M/A/N
breasts and silk once seen on canvas
could not concede to his kisses
or arch of bow
he had to wander

W/O/M/A/N
no more companion
than those strings he manipulated
with fingers callused,
she will not tremor

W/O/M/A/N
as absent as the background
waiting for a taxi,
rain effective conduit
to her misery,
he sheltered the cello
with umbrella
heading to a jazz club

W/O/M/A/N
is the beat
is the tender thrum,
a cello’s true heart
and poets calling,
absinthe and kisses
parted stocking thighs
he had found another
W/O/M/A/N

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau

 

 

72 Panels

behind her shoji screen

where protected, felt assured to be naked

no unbidden glances

would spill from a mans eye

gathered in her own mind

and clothed touched the soft panels

each to represent a year of life,

the ones lived and ones to come

patches of existence on a written timeframe,

smiling she moved to the window

hillside and meadow

no sharp intrusions to the eye

looking back she wondered of the last panel

what  ghosts lurked behind

for it was hidden

until the time was right,

a swarm of bees sounded outside

nectar and honey

as she expected love to be

but mother said not,

spoke of not having to worship a man,

his edges not so rounded

where often cruel as father was

to others but not her

not a favorite they just understood,

it did not matter of the last panel

for she knew how long she had

as sliding the door behind

walked out onto a busy street