Sample Poems by Mary Curtis

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Cry Rain


slop on,
beat, drone
staccato drops,
rhythmic and random -
hit the roof, more
untuned brass
ensemble gone mad
together and not -
splash through,
flood gutters,
drains - spill
onto land
the place of change.

---

Morning in Three Parts

A twitch - pain - stillness
persistence - pricks - draws - pounding
scans - meds - weight loss - tubes
cameras - drains - wounds
consults in cold rooms - long
waits - white coats - handshakes, we cans,
bewildered hopefuls - harp reverberated lobbies -
wide stone staircases, whispery doors, an elevator glide,
another waiting room - translucent tangle of tubes -
tubes stuck between ribs.

Infusions. Drugs with x's and z's.
Weight loss. Can't operate. Infection.
Antibiotics. Waiting. Drains.
Pain. Weakening now.
Physical therapy, TPN, insulin, then
searching brown eyes meet their last morning.

Day in, year out, five years of mornings
I awaken in our bed, often thinking you here
finding the new pup who stares at me
with black wake-up-and-play eyes and the lab
who shoves her head into to my palm as soon
as my hand dangles off the mattress
I rub both dogs roll myself upright
turn off the alarm rush dogs over wood,
oriental rug and kitchen-cold stone to the door and out.
I could not be a pickpocket I repeat to myself, because
my wrists snap - nor a cat burglar because my toes crack.
As I think my silly thoughts I pass the girls rooms
empty now and replay life as family in this house,
its refrigerator once stocked for four. Scratching
at the door tells me the lab wants in the pup
will be next my morning begins
each day each year opaque on this golden shore.

---

Surface

A breeze wafts through vertical louvers
screened openings to outside - a slam
and my Basset's, "mmmmm-hmmm,"
his tail wags despite his diatribe against unknowns.

The redwood ceiling over my chair
holds the warmth of the man who handpicked
each of its boards, insisting on the most clear,
the most refined wood for this room
so we, and now I, can look up
with the satisfaction of seeing
the right choices, a job well-done.

I'm immersed in long red grain, even
from board to board, and crossbeam -
your ethic and care reflect in this room,
the one where I spend the most time now
and before you passed, the place
where you and I retreated.

Smooth leather of my chair
was the surface I sought
when lifting laptop to knee
to study your disease.

Smooth leather holds my ache of heart, ache of age
and new enterprise of living. At once cold, hard,
welcoming, the perfect
surface for now.

---

Twilight

our old dog sleeps, eyes half open
again the twilight of living

your eyes were wide
five years ago living

brown embers
meeting death

He has messages your caregiver said
as night fell over you, my love.

---

9c4a2a

inspired by The Rape by Renee Magritte

stars, glare, horizon
the darkening below bisected
by a milk and willow neck
upon which is a world

swirls in texture and mute
one pear eye one dimmed in shadow
nipple pupils
on a landscape without
cavern, cavity, passage way
for the intake of oxygen
the outflow of carbon dioxide, a call,
a spoken word, a scream, a song
a landscape without birdsong,
cricket chirp, wind rustle, a cry

a landscape of ordered flows,
up from, in many directions from
the blank and pointillistic shadow
a landscape of absence, bruised
of features, swollen emptiness
white empty, black empty
within the ordered flow
of going on, looking like
appearing, appearing well
well-coiffed, well-styled, well-preserved

well - healthy - appearing
pulled from shallows against the horizon
body - disembodied - face

within its frame and four corners
defaced again
embodied and escaping