There is a
on the corner
where the four
Her eye is
She lays down
Asks “do you wish
tea of wormwood
She will enchant
your mind now
into fields of
All Fall Down
Leaves toppling from trees fiery
leaves red yellow green flames.
Only this remains…smoky ends of days.
Days like leaves crumbling, shriveled,
tumbling down, falling to the ground.
Scattered into an acrid mound.
An acrid mound of sour roots. Our garden
grew from the wrong side of the moon.
Brackish vines are harvested there.
Flowers of despair grew a single fruit.
It tasted bittersweet. My laughter became
harsh. My eyes grew oblique.
I want to curse and cry against this world.
Fine dreams stolen…ragged and torn
like leaves blown in storm.
Storm winds strangle treetops, shaking,
foliage pulled from boughs. Broken
by thunder pummeled through long nights
Long nights heavy rains spilling black ink
stains. There is no solution, another day
done, another piece of the puzzle gone
Ashes ashes all fall down
what is lost cannot be found.
Sneaks under shadows lurking
in corners ready to rear its head
folded in neat lab reports charting
white blood cells over edge running wild.
Or hiding along icy roads when
day ends with sea gulls squalling
through steel grey skies.
Brake belts wheeze and whine
snapping apart careening us
against the long cold night.
Official white envelopes stuffed with
subpoenas wait at the mailbox.
Memories of hot words burning
razor blades slash across our faces.
Fires leap from rooms where twisted
wires dance like miniature skeletons.
We stand apart inhaling this mean
air choking on our own breath.
Wrapped in darkness we can
no longer deceive ourselves.
Our smiling masks float away.
We snake here, there
from one side to another.
How many times do we rip off
blankets only to claw more on?
Listening to zzzzzz of traffic,
mumble of freight trains, fog horns.
Listening to wheezing,
feeling muscles throb.
How can we find comfort?
Say same word over and over
again again falling falling to sleep.
I will stop measuring what was lost.
I will become brave.
Let slumber come covering me.
Let my mouth droop, fingers tingle.
Wishing something cool…soft…sweet.
Now I will curl like a fetus
gathering into myself
hoping to awake new born.
About the Poet
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary zines such as Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Halcyon Days and included in Bright Hills Press, Kind of A Hurricane Press and Poppy Road Review anthologies. She has been nominated four times for Best of the Net.