Monday, January 25, 2010

Anglo-Saxon Prosody

For Zach

My heart will be hollow          when you hurtle forward,
And I'll wish you could wait          just one moment.
Yet I know that nowhere          is your new keeper,
And filling faces with          freshness is your calling.
But I will miss your mess,          and I will miss your gait.
At dawn I will dream of          dancing in the sky
And remember the rain          when we ran in circles
Around the railway,          wretched, our heads
In our hands as we hoped          each hour could be this joyous.

Justine Bienkowski

Friday, January 15, 2010

Free Verse

I feel like this is one of the worst things I have written in a long time, but it sort of means the most to me out of anything I've ever written, if that makes any sense.



A Good Intentioned Theft

I have stolen your boots—
The hazelnut leather ones
Whose toes are breaking free from
The joints—
Taken them from the attic
Where they had lain forgotten
Among the reminders of who you once were.
I am hoping that they can give me a clue
As to what you have been thinking.
I have even worn them,
Clumsily shifting around my apartment;
I understand, now, why you are always tripping.
The brown of these boots
Reminds me of the long hair
You once had,
And I suppose they help me forget
The shaved heads.
Awhile ago, I also stole your ring,
Trying to connect with you somehow,
And yes, it is the one I wear each day
That reminds you so much of one you used to own.
I cannot remember a time when I reached you,
Any moment where we might have spoken kindly
Without the threat of tension.
I feel I must reserve my efforts
To these objects,
Where I hear the distinct sound of your echoes.

Justine Bienkowski