UNKNOWN TERRITORY

UNKNOWN TERRITORY


A faint moon lights your face -
although some say you vanished
in a storm -

Still I see your eyes as you
stare into mine - passion - our
appetite for love -

not been taken in spite
of certain death – no one sees
as we do.

Your face will never leave –
your face brings me back to
our last day – waves spill
over a rocky shore – you roll
me over and over again on
sand until our body is coated
and I embrace you – kiss your
lips, as clean as water – falls

You knew I would not let you
go - I held you – whispered
in your ear, kissed your ear
lobe - but a force stronger
pulled you from me.

I recall our hands slipping
and at last our touch of skin
falling from one another’s
reach to a place where we
roll together in sand. . .

Distance make no mention
of love waiting on the other
side, no matter theories are
words on paper – love is
real –

Your face – those prominent
features – countless stars
we tried to find the constellations
or even more momentous
a new planet –

We found our own – a sea at
moonlight innumerable stars
countless constellations, unknown
territory – we are in ecstasy –
Your face an instrument of
life after death - keeping
me here – will we ever leave?


Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved @2011

ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS - NINETEEN SIXTY FIVE

ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS
NINETEEN SIXTY FIVE


Remember when a smile
lit up your face?
When we passed in the hall
back in nineteen sixty five?

Bob Dylan was telling us
who we were –
what to do –
if we didn’t listen
we would all be dead

We sang, holding hands
as we pretended to be
Sonny and Cher –
“You’ve Got Me Babe.”

Remember me hitch hiking
in front of RPI after spending
money to watch you instead
of Sonny and Cher –

Rocky and I were seating in
the balcony, front row, as I
peered through binoculars
watching you, listening to
“I’ve Got You Babe. . .”

No plans to get home
knowing your father would
be waiting out front of RPI
sitting behind the wheel of
his Cutlass – you weren’t
old enough to drive

It was a winter day when you
received your permit, drove
down to Avenue A, only
sixteen – it was daylight and
you had this old beaten up car

You used the front door –
anyone new, used the front door
then you would shake hands
with the family as they left to
listen in the kitchen

We sat side by side on a red
velvet couch – soon to be given
to my uncle in California –
I was comfortable, rocking in
our rocker from Vermont

Spent hours asking questions
I interviewed you for the first
time -
“Seventeen Magazine.”

One hundred questions
I asked –
One hundred answers
you told me –
Learning you desires
what – really - turned you on
James Bond
Double 07
and that double breasted
navy coat
you found in the attic
you had to say girls with
blue eyes and dark hair –
with that smile. . .

Mother listened from
the kitchen – we lived in
a city flat, called Goose
Hill – but, Schenecatdy
had nicknames for
neighborhoods, and boys,
men – they all had nick
names –

As I continued asking you
questions, I continued to
rock back and forth – not
knowing this would be the
first interview –

Presidential candidates
would take your place on
different chairs.
But, that was nineteen
sixty five – thirty years
before I dared to ask big
shots – questions about
their thoughts –
even one had more then
one hundred questions. . .

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
@2011