Sharron Belson's Poetry Page
Meandering
She walks
and the crush
of her feet on the leaves
gives off scant perfume.
For the air is already full
with the scent of
eucalyptus particles
moving in the hazy light.
The memory of his sound
turns between her toes
and up into the muscle
of her thighs.
She walks slowly
questioning the meaning
of these shops
all shuttered
Their songs
blank and their jewels
packed away like china
floated on a turquoise sea.
Afternoon Nap
The beds are made
and dishes done.
Dear husband on
the tennis courts
and telephone ringer
turned to off.
I sneak into bed
roll back the down
coverlet
as though committing a small
and silent crime.
I climb in
ball the pillow up beneath my cheek.
I hear a canary trill
outside the summer porch.
I see the afternoon sun trace
a leafy path across the floor
and over the outline
of my feet. Last thing
I recall.
Hours later, it is dark
I hear a key turn
in the door
I think it is two
AM and someone
is breaking in.
I check my watch
It is eight. Time
for dinner
time to mull over
my dream
of swimming in a warm
silver pool.
Time to comb my hair.
He leans against the doorjamb
amused
says "what a life"
and I answer
"climb in."
"Hungry" he answers.
"Groggy" I respond.
"Yeah, so I see.
so I see."
Slowly I swing my knees over
the edge. Stumble
across the floor
toward my robe.
He bends and kisses me.
We shower
He orders Chinese.
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This page was last updated on May 22, 2004