Posted Keep Out
Beyond the track
which carried you
north, white signs
with black letters
“posted keep out.”
Beyond blood once
fresh and wet like
the yellow roses
drying or the corn
stalks ready to leave
vacant fields; soon
bails of hay.
You said he peeked
at your petticoat, below
lace and satin.
And, I noticed
you could not sleep…
The train flew past
graveyards, and crept past
city streets, awakened
by laughter echoing
through glass; you were
smiling. You were
alive.
You showed me the
petticoat worn last
night before he soiled
it, then said, “No one
noticed the color
of his skin.”
Slightly rocking
side to side, we both
raised our glass,
and toasted to the
light, not knowing
what will become
of night.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Poetry and Prose by Nancy Duci Denofio with bloger http://nancyducidenofio.blogspot.com
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
ELECTRIC CIRCUTS
ELECTRIC CIRCUTS
Nothing to do
Nothing to say
Words have split us
Split us into different
People rocked by a
Man – he sits behind
His desk – rips me
Apart – once a week
Electricity placed on
My temples – ten times
Tried to clear my mind
Forget which life I lived
Which life this is?
This one – or the one
Before
Never knew to choose
Sections of time
Never wrote in chalk
Never used an eraser
Never took away a
Memory
Will they try again?
Will they rip me apart?
On my next trip – when
I return -
No one believes
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Nothing to do
Nothing to say
Words have split us
Split us into different
People rocked by a
Man – he sits behind
His desk – rips me
Apart – once a week
Electricity placed on
My temples – ten times
Tried to clear my mind
Forget which life I lived
Which life this is?
This one – or the one
Before
Never knew to choose
Sections of time
Never wrote in chalk
Never used an eraser
Never took away a
Memory
Will they try again?
Will they rip me apart?
On my next trip – when
I return -
No one believes
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
DEPOSIT TRASH
DEPOSIT TRASH
That's me
hanging around the "Motel"
near the spot where a sign
reads, "Deposit Trash,"
where chipmunks congregate
in the city
climb a single tree
in our concrete jungle -
That's me
leaning against red brick
seeing less than you
knowing all there is
to know - about
"Depositing Trash,"
watching people strut
by in suits
while I still wear
open toe shoes in
late fall -
forgot to paint my
toe nails and clip
the longest on the
big toe . . .
but no one knows
That's me
a reflection on a
dirty window showing
my age - showing me,
a faceless woman -
a shadow in black
leaning against
red brick near that
sign "Deposit Trash,"
where few people
notice I walk a
little crooked -
I seldom smile -
I seldom laugh -
I seldom deposit
my trash
It is me in the
reflection - I lift
my arm to cross
my chest - as if to
feel my own heart
race - then move
rub my back against
red brick to stop
the itch
That's me
waiting for a stranger
in a yellow cab - to
slow up in front of the
motel window - a
reflection in black - to
pick up - then deposit
trash.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
That's me
hanging around the "Motel"
near the spot where a sign
reads, "Deposit Trash,"
where chipmunks congregate
in the city
climb a single tree
in our concrete jungle -
That's me
leaning against red brick
seeing less than you
knowing all there is
to know - about
"Depositing Trash,"
watching people strut
by in suits
while I still wear
open toe shoes in
late fall -
forgot to paint my
toe nails and clip
the longest on the
big toe . . .
but no one knows
That's me
a reflection on a
dirty window showing
my age - showing me,
a faceless woman -
a shadow in black
leaning against
red brick near that
sign "Deposit Trash,"
where few people
notice I walk a
little crooked -
I seldom smile -
I seldom laugh -
I seldom deposit
my trash
It is me in the
reflection - I lift
my arm to cross
my chest - as if to
feel my own heart
race - then move
rub my back against
red brick to stop
the itch
That's me
waiting for a stranger
in a yellow cab - to
slow up in front of the
motel window - a
reflection in black - to
pick up - then deposit
trash.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
SLEEPING WITH THE SEA GULLS
SLEEPING WITH THE SEA GULLS
Dare I - dare I open up the drapes -
oh yes, light excites me
as you lay at peace,
extending night.
As a child's toes touch
stones, it's there I go to sit,
listen, taste salt water on my lips -
dampness on bare skin.
You are asleep
unlike the retired man - tending
to his umbrellas, sweeping
cigarette butts from his faded
redwood deck -
as least he hobbles, shuffles -
to touch light.
Sea gulls play as if on strings
begging -
a retired man,
stares at the seas,
his tanned head - bald -
pants rolled past his knees,
a pot belly resting on his thighs.
His eyes see more then those
who sleep in daylight,
extending night.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
Dare I - dare I open up the drapes -
oh yes, light excites me
as you lay at peace,
extending night.
As a child's toes touch
stones, it's there I go to sit,
listen, taste salt water on my lips -
dampness on bare skin.
You are asleep
unlike the retired man - tending
to his umbrellas, sweeping
cigarette butts from his faded
redwood deck -
as least he hobbles, shuffles -
to touch light.
Sea gulls play as if on strings
begging -
a retired man,
stares at the seas,
his tanned head - bald -
pants rolled past his knees,
a pot belly resting on his thighs.
His eyes see more then those
who sleep in daylight,
extending night.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
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