Martha J. Eshelman

Death stands by his closet dressing.
He checks his date book. Twice.

Death dresses in black like a cat burglar,
...

Childhood ended with Mother's decree
we no longer play together
for reasons
obscure
...

put out the moon
reach up, clasp it
press its ends closed upon themselves
wrap this ring in fallen leaves
...

Rosy fingers cupping
tawny breasts,
I rise
dripping
...

Take it from one who knows
Hell is just around the corner
and its cold
bone-cracking soul-searching cold
...

I like to stick my toungue out
I like to scream and shout
I like to push my lips away
and pout and pout and pout.
...

My shadow reels
in and out, long and short,
single, double, dark, light
negating street lamps
...

And man said
'let there be light'
and there was light -
a mushroom cloud -
...

came before the need,
was tossed in the garbage bin
to rot with apple peels and empty bottles
of aloe vera sun screen,
...

Town is where widowed grandmas live
near Finnish Lutheran churches
lighted by stained-glass oil lamps -
cherished reliques of the homeland.
...

He's still dead you know.
Some things never change.
Life's been rough as a washboard
and I sure ain't ready
...

A child sorting river rock;
one pile of skipping stones,
another to break apart
hoping to find the sparkle
...

Angels sit on pins
and flap white wings
without an eyeblink
of passing time.
...