Don'T Let The Lights Go Out On You Poem by Lisa Rhodes

At 3 a.m. the water sputters
as the loosely twisted 7 grooved
chromium knobs are turned toward
warm with my sleek swimmers
legs and delicately carved feet shaped
like cling peaches posed in recline.

I sit with my long brown disheveled
hair hovering over my half mast
eyes in a blue tub. I pray for
an end to this volcanic
morning where I have had to
fight silently sick and apathetic

while almost metamorphisizing
into a fallen angel
plummeting from a spiteless
death. I want desperately
to wake into a refreshing mist
flowing from the electric tar-

paper covered well that
scrounges water from
beneath aged rocks
and that had once courageously
hidden my wounded sweet black
cat crouched and scared

under its' roof.
Am I so far away from
the stiff cotton clouds that drag
me deeper into old age, past
this eternity and back into
centuries millions of years ago?

I awaken in a dream that prettily
paints only modern luxuries.
I can't imagine that this yellow
stucco house that I have
lived in has grown old.
I can only remember this

as I listen to its withered
water pipes cough deeply,
then choke and sputter dry.
I like the sound: a fight
aghast for breath, as I linger
in its' shadows that

need me to see and feel
anger, so as the lights
went dead, my aunt's revenge
was dancing in my head.