Sample Poems by C.J. Sage


The Advocate Visits O's Flailed Family

Steel-eyed but sandal-footed
Justina appeared at the front door
of Odyssea's Tilly and Peyton. Hooded

in sweats, civilian-dressed, she wore
the masks of a male stranger. She kept
a bronze-tipped knife in her pocket, just for

safe passing. (There were unacceptable
sorts here, after all--the raiders
of Odyssea's riches.) Tilly, who'd wept

in a black corner, wishing her mother
would come back and banish these bitches,
rose to query the handsome stranger.

"Do I know you?" asked Tilly, twitching.
"Ignore these tacky women's games.
They claim to be courting my father--he's rich--

it's money they really court. No shame!
My mother would cut them off like thorns
if she were here. I swear, she'd lame

those spreading legs . . . . You look forlorn;
why don't you come inside and sit
with me awhile. No more mourning

in your ear--I promise." Into the pit
of the house, Tilly took the man-
disguised Justina. They shared a bit

of food, salad and fruit, and cans
of beer before those worthless wenches
herded around the meat, ran

like Rovers to get their fill. The henchwomen
gluttoned. Tilly polished her bench.


 

The Song & Dance of Odyssea's Advocate

The women blared the stereo; the bass
blew out the speakers. Into the ear
of Justina, Tilly flirted: "Whose face

is yours, why do you come, from where?
And how? By plane? By ship, then? Surely
you did not swim to Hawaii. Been here

before, have you? And our pearly
shores beckoned you back? Never
have I met someone so burly,

and yet you seem familiar. Clever
as I am, I'm at a loss, I think!"
Tipsy, she wasn't feigning. However

wilting at times, here she'd sink
lower, pressing her head to his shoulder:
"Be a gentleman. Tell me your link

to this neighborhood." Justina would hold her
tongue and tell the cover story:
"My name is Mark. I come from a colder

climate, the northmost state, glorious!--
though without your wide green pastures.
I sailed here on the word of a hoary

fellow captain; he says your mother's
come home. But it seems she's delayed?
No, she wasn't killed . . . . She'd crashed her

ship on some island, betrayed
by the sea and her wit. She couldn't swim,
weak from the wreck--but I think she relays,

now, for home. The gossip is grim:
savages held her captive--wild-haired,
naked savages--they tied her limbs

to trees . . . but don't worry. She's dared
an escape, so much for her family she cares."

Turning Point Books

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