Poem of the Week #63 and #62

#63

Forward

Forward into the mystery I go,
even when the load is hard to bear.
The future pulls, I feel the undertow.

With kindness on the path, am I alone?
No, every hand I touch dispels my fear,
as forward into the mystery I go.

An ocean rages through me fast and slow,
waving to me sometimes far, sometimes near.
The future pulls, I feel the undertow.

I try to stem the tide and stop the flow.
I jump, and find the precipice is sheer.
Forward into the mystery I go.

More than just a flag of flesh held up by bone,
I sail the banner of my life from year to year.
The future pulls, I feel the undertow.

Some days I root, some days I float,
but in the end, this much is clear:
Forward into the mystery I go.
The future pulls, I feel the undertow.


Lisa Vihos



#62

Rain

We opened
each other
one bit at a time.
First, our mouths.
Words came out,
turned into music.
Lips parted,
tongues appeared,
pried things open.

Beginning with
the usual, then
to our amazement,
things unexpected:
ears, noses, bellies,
your big toe.

We were flayed
and our insides
mingled in such a way
that our lungs breathed
one air, intestines
twined toward one tract,
hearts pumped one river of blood
through a conjoined system, us.

We stayed that way
as long as we could,
but there comes a time
when every river
dries up. Then,
we were simply
dust, ground together,
waiting for rain.


Lisa Vihos