WHITE ROSES

White Roses

white roses…
white light
dance

circle me
in white lace
surround me

in white satin…
touch my skin
your - tenderness

of petals pure
white roses - on
a perfect vine

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

SILENT DAYS

SILENT DAYS


walls surround me
everywhere dolls
stare out from plastic
eyes - empty soda cans
pop - as tin expands
heat enters a room

piles of books to read
without light - yet
fill a room with sound
as clicking from a
machine mends a brain
activates cells
destroyed, or is it a
kidney?

see a rug,
brown furniture
sunlight behind a shade -
turn on a sound
machine - picture blurred
voices heard

music stings
blasting from a passing car -
open windows,
perhaps a convertible
flashy red corvette - youth
stirring in seats and yes,
Janis Joplin still
seems quite alive
filling air waves, shaking
windshields.

birds must be building
another home
together - wings flap back
and forth - back and forth
above the air conditioner
outside, near a shade tree

children sing fight,
carry on like rats in a cage
fight - fight
who will it be to run, or jump
higher than him?

a single key
as silence surrouds me
and protects me - my
chair faces a bare wall
without noise - slowly I
turn toward a window -
crying for me - oh I have
said before to walls. . .
silent days are midnights
dream for a tomorrow - while
silent nights you lay alone
and shake - in summer heat.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved

Love on the Run

Love On The Run

you frightened me
I hated love
too close
my feet slithered over
grass
heard a car screeching,
a strangers hug
as a church bell rang
people stared,
I was leaving you…

you were much
too real – two hearts
don’t fall in love –
it crippled me
for twenty years
before I learned
what I left on grass,
when church bells rang
talking - telling me
what the heart knew

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

NEVER

Never

Never going to be
home - on a fifty foot
corner lot where
everyone hears
each other argue…

Never going to be
home coming queen…
or a mother of two,
or a sixteen year old –
or eighteen – or
twenty one or even forty….

Never going to be a
child - afraid of the dark,
spiders, mice, red ants…
or another game of softball –
with Mama…

Never going to be a
morning when I steal
a pressed white
shirt from brother’s closet
to wear beneath a v-neck
sweater…

Never going to be a
child of five making her
first communion, or another
ride on some strong shoulders,
or a trip to State Street with
Papa for orange pineapple
ice cream …

Never going to be a
young girl sitting side by
side near Papa, for the
Veterans Day Parade –
or tack up signs
with Papas’ picture,
his successful bid for office,
a smile ear to ear,
he wins.

Never going back.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

SALT WATER TEARS

Salt Water Tears

In my mind you were
the outcast, standing
humble in a line of
mourners -
close to the casket.

People cried, hugged
you - wrapped their
arms about your body,
to seal the envelope of
death - with love...

It appeared you had a
constant spasm in your
neck - swinging long
blonde hair away from
salty tears.

So obvious to me, you
were pretending -
false tears smudged your
makeup - then, rolled
down your face...

Death can rip you apart
exposing so much guilt -
exposing so much fear...

It's too late to wash
scars away with salt
water tears...

Nancy Duci Denofio copyright@1996 Published "Women and Death"

WE FOUND PEACE BUT NO VALLEY

We Found Peace
but no Valley


Dressed in winter gear
scarf
hat
double jackets
boots
triple socks
spare gloves
stuffed into hip pockets -

mittens colored red
dog brought his
own coat -
walking down,
down
you said,
a valley here?
down,
down.

Just wore this coat, and
wind is fierce in the forest -
forgot the axe
we - are - lost,
aren't we?

Snow Is crusted…
feet chewing
into thin slices
of white
ice
colder.
snow,
shimmers
colors
of a rainbow -
rain is far
from here.

These eyes - can make
sun melt snow -
if I dream -
sleep in the valley?
No valley
here.

Yesterday you had the map
plans drawn.
I thought you
double checked
before we left
home?
You - are - so
wrong

Black ink -
last years;
the real one fell
behind the bedpost
last night.
I thought you knew?

Grab the paper sack
eat baloney sandwiches
build a tent -
taught how in girl scouts

don’t laugh - I have to pray
on my knees,
Grandmother taught me,
never practiced much.

Forgive him for misplacing the
road map, and can you send a
little sun?
Maybe change the seasons,
or even, fly over us
lead us home?

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Begging To Be Touched

BEGGING TO BE TOUCHED

stretched out
beside you
begging,
to be touched

stroke
my back, run
your fingers
through
my hair

a child -
pleading,
rub my back -

if you stop
I move restlessly
about, moan,

groan,
begging,
don't give up.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved

CLUE PEOPLE

CLUE PEOPLE

Those girls they jump rope –
I can hear the scrapping of the
rope – knew I wasn’t wanted
before – or now. Besides –
it was on the other side of the
street.

How can I play on the other
side of the street? And, this
one girl thinks she’s better
then all the rest, because she
has the biggest driveway.
We have a corner lot!

Next door two old people
and another lady Mamas
age but she talks too much.
She tells stories and they are
really lies – but, Mama said
they are stories – so I have to
believe Mama.

Sometimes a little girl shows
up next door and I am allowed
to visit her, play with her – and
listen to the lady with the big
mouth. The little girl, she has
the same games as me and she
piles them on top of the ladies
old table – it tips – as she reaches
for Clue.

“Draw a player but close your
eyes – tight, and don’t peek,”
the little girl visiting told me. . .
I said, “I won’t peek, and I’m
happy to be here and love Clue.”
I said this without a smile – my
head lowered like when the
girls jumping rope in the big
driveway shoo me away.

For some reason I always end
up being Mrs. Peacock, and I
always carried a knife.

One lady in the neighborhood
was really Mrs. Peacock, but
she wouldn’t carry a knife. Her
hair looked exactly like the picture
staring at me. We have a
neighborhood filled with Clue
people.

The man across the street, he was
never home and he never told a
soul when he would return – one
of the boys told another boy – I
only have little boys on my side
of the road – that he goes to jail
and stays and comes home and
then, goes back.

So he was the guilty one when it
came to Clue – he was the one
with the gun – you see – I imagine
a man in jail had to have a gun,
maybe a mask like a bad man?

The fancy lady on the block had
to have a candle stick – she was
the lady with the big front yard.
I never see her – and they do drive
in and out of that long drive way
but she never looks, or waves.
She had to own a candle stick. . .

The butler – well he lives on
another block; across the street
near the big street next to the
big market where a lady plays
with a big cash register. Mama
told me my cash register holds
pennies for penny candy.

So, the butler must carry all
the brown bags out of the big
market for the people who shop
inside. . . he has a uniform too
and it’s black and white. I guess
all big markets have butlers.

Well, I am tired of Clue and tired
of the little girl – telling me what
to do – like the lady with the big
mouth. I tell the lady I am leaving
and she watches me walk down
the inside staircase, and I promise
not to touch the walls.

Our front porch is big – bigger
then the girl with the drive way –
on the other side of the street. I
play on our porch with Mama –
she is picking weeds. I sit next
to a metal box where milk is kept
and I lift the lid – the milk is gone
but my paper dolls look at me –
and they talk – we all get along.


Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved