Seeker Magazine - May 2005

"Guilt" and Other Poems

by Fran LeMoine

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Guilt
A single thread
sliced
through
the
flesh
of an infant's
new
finger.
The baby cried and cried
until the new mother
disentangled the
tiny
blue
finger.
The panic made it
take a little longer.
She never let the baby cry again.
That might have been a mistake.

Untitled
He wrote a book of poems entitled
A Biography in Scars.
A book that made his wife laugh
and his mistress spill tears
like a waterfall
into a shot glass.
Who does he love?
He doesn't know.

If It Rained
If it rained
haikus
printed on
origami birds,
you still would not read them.

Curb
Is a curb
a blind man's horizon?
He'll ask him if
he ever meets one.

Getting Old
He misses
the old photographs
where everyone had
ruby eyes
and occasionally
the top of a head or two
didn't make it in.

She Craves a State
She craves a state
absent of
mindless longing.
She wants to die.
But not the way the Buddhists mean.

Emerald

for Marion
Water somewhere far from here
Ireland
Jealousy
June grass
A birthstone
That city
Your eyes
When you cry.

Springs
The springs of his bed
stubbornly jutted out here,
sproinged there,
reminding him that
she used to be here, too.

Poker Game
He had seven rolls
of quarters
in front of him
and a wad
of bills
in his pocket.
He looked like
he owned the world
that night.
Or at least the game.
Flush beats three of a kind, my man.
Into the wad.

Ecru
He'd been drinking for a couple of days.
When he awoke,
he noticed the stain on the gray rug
("ecru," he thinks she called it)
The stain on the carpet
formed a long and lovely necklace
of rubies, milk, ashes and orange peels.
He knew she wouldn't like it.

Curator
In the refrigerator,
there's a Kahlua Mudslide
on the top shelf near the light bulb.
The fridge is filthy.
It needs scrubbing.
It has to be emptied first.
He can't bring himself to
move the Mudslide,
though he stopped drinking
four years ago.
The mudslide reminds him of her.

He won't disturb the bottle.
And that's just the top shelf.

Everybody in This Movie is Dead
Being here with you now,
it's just like watching old movies.
I watch "Potemkin" and I say,
"Everybody in this movie is dead!"
I'd go home if I wasn't already there.

Why He Doesn't Like Rabbits
He saw one bonked on the head,
then skinned alive
before his eyes
when he was nine years old
No warning for the rabbit.
Less for him.
That's why.

Copyright 2005 by Fran LeMoine (No reproduction without express permission from the author)

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Letter to the Author: Fran LeMoine