Barbara Talman

...

Rural boys growing by cattails and thickets,
wrestling while waiting for the bus.
Towheaded they tumble,
pulling string and rock, comparing prizes of their own.
...

Quiet words
in the night,
stepping stones
to reach you.
...

I lie alone
at night.
A cocoon of love
wishing for your touch
...

Yo, Jesus, Rabbi,
you were a rebel,
a hero, real.
So much courage
...

It was a good day
no time of need.
But, desires never disappeared.
Until the storing of them
...

How much you missed.
Roles, layered as Winter clothing
on a Summer day, kept you.
...

Once I was a young woman
stomach pulled taunt against a being
to be so loved.
Smile crossed faces viewed fertility
...

Floating on the arabesque sheets of tin,
I wonder for life, is it there?
Come and envelope me to your breasts and
tell me secrets of camille days and rose hips along the Nile.
...

Short runways of concrete
connecting boxes to longer runways leading to nowhere.

I am afraid of you, Suburbia, your uniformity tightens
...

We thought he was the strong one.
Locking doors, emotions with keys
he was hiding.
Now she stands alone without him.
...

My face a furnace
hiding the fire.
Questioning the avoidance.
Pauses, false side steps,
...

When I came, you thought you were a father,
and looked so smug.
Speaking, but saying nothing, you did not know
you were a disappointment, and neither did I.
...