Blink

            -"Saints" crafted by Jimmy Abbegg

Only faces I see- 
Smudge-edged and rough
Warm at their backs
Hung from a woven
Wrought iron fence

Grim eyed and
Waiting, perhaps
Wanting but only
Staring-their flat,
Colorless eyes catch
On mine and we
Do not blink for
The longest of
Time until my eyes collapse
And leak
And must be shut

They do and reopen-
The faces still there-
Etched in coal,
 It seems, though I
 Dare not chase my
Finger along the
Canvases to clarify-
I draw up on my
Toes, they crack
Slightly and I
Watched for the
Faces to react-
They didn't.

Rough ruby lips
Part as my questions
Whisper out
Were you not 
Once alive, be holding 
These expressions with 
Tiny-haired flesh 
Striving muscles pulling 
Against aching bones 
And emotion chasing 
In your blood? 
Did you not once have 
A body 
With hands, feet, rib cage 
And sturdy legs?
I rested against my
Heels again, feeling my own
Body thank me in relief
Glaring, intently, glaring
For the answer-
I turned abruptly
But stopped
Before me were the living
Faces- full body
Breathing, sucking air
Into their pink lungs I felt sure
A soft trimmer, a beat
Found itself in their hearts
Once dead- captured
With brush and ink and
Hung on a wrought iron fence
But now
Glistening, wet eyes- alive
Gazing up at themselves
Remembering, never wishing
To return

Caught in a 1930's Radio Show

Settled in a sepia hue
The crackle of the
Fire blankets the
Stillness

The constriction of her
Belt is overwhelming
The sweat beneath her gloves-
Dripping

They are gone, thrown
To the floor, raw red
Lipstick had been of no
Benefit 

To-night she entered alone-
Artificial flowers on
Tapestries and couches brought no
Amenity

Yanking at her hair
She stripped if of pins
Thrashing her head a bout,
Untamed

Earrings, necklace, bracelets
Alike, tumbling to the ground
The light remains
Discrete

Stumbling in the shadows
Collapsing against unforgiving excuses
For cushions, breathing in the sting of
Loneliness

Eyes so exhausted from
Searching refuse to remain
Exposed eye lids become
Locked 

Palms, fingers pad around
Finding the switch- turning it
An orchestra resounds against the
Walls 

Elbow bent over her dozing face
Finally able to find rest
Her mind dreams of handsome
Perfection

Another enters without
Notice- swiftly, silently
Clearing the space between
Them

 Kneeling at her side
Calloused hands gently cup
Hers- deep brown eyes fluttering
Open

A brilliant, bright smile
A nod of his head
He cradles her with
Ease

 Lifting her from the couch
Letting her feet slip to the floor
Through fits of joyous
Laughter

Drawing her close, the tips
Of their blouses kiss-
He guides her to the chorus of
Orchestras 

Their dancing slows- resting her
Cherried cheek against his chest
Twirling, her locks whipped
Freely
Fastening her eyes shut knowing
This feeling endures anything of sight
Delight catches in her throat
She finds it hopeless to
Breathe

Girl Time

It was just us girls
 Doing girly things
 That these girls love to do-
So many tiny
 Glass bottles
Clanked together
Showering down
 Into a rainbow hilltop,
 Sifting through them with
Naked hands
My fingers clutched
 A royal purple-
Blair chose
 Bonnet blue-
Emily- hot pink
With sparkles,
Fits of giggles
 Echoed through
 Against sea wooded 
Walls and ocean air
 Not a care in the world-
Not a boy in sight,
Just doing what girls
 Do best-as purple
 Coating hardened over each
 Ripe nail
A gust of tension swept around the
Room-
Gone Instantly-
Cracked by Indian roars of
Ruckus raising creatures- Boys
 Screams, so loud they blistered
 The window panes, Rang from our mouths
But we knew just what to do- three against two
An easy pin
Flicks of
 Purple, blue, sparkly pink
Doing what girls do best-
Revenge