Sunday, January 13, 2013

Foggy Day


How do people get along
in places where the sun
hides almost every day?

I can't imagine it
since I'm evaporating slowly
into this fog myself.

The sun's given up on us
it seems . . .
angry about something or other
as if it didn't know
what was coming when it got the job!

I'm sure there was a sad comment or two
from the angels
about this situation called "humanity"
and all the screw ups we'd be making
down the line

but hiding so long only makes things worse
pills and booze and ropes come out of the closets
a "goodbye letter" gets scribbled on a nice white napkin
and someone starts smashing mirrors
down the street . . . I heard it myself, yesterday.

Come on out, Sun!  I can't take much more of this.
Ugh! The DRAMA!!!

Joanne Cucinello  2013

Saturday, January 12, 2013

See How He Waits


He sits on that long wire, stark and solitary,
a dark hyphen in the gloomy backdrop
of the winter's sky

a Blackbird, perched there for weeks now
the way my grandfather sat on that chair in the kitchen
staring at the teapot, waiting for the whistle to blow,
waiting for someone to tell him his wife wasn't dead.

Even in the snow, that lonely bird keeps
chirping with his mouth wide open
like a hatchling hoping to be fed or
waiting for the flutter of his mate's wide wings.

I wonder if she's lost or dead like Grandma
or maybe waiting for him somewhere
with a broken wing, unable to fly
but she hasn't returned and I don't think she will.

Grandma didn't, no matter how long that old man waited.
He wanted to die too, so he went in the bathtub
and never came out.

Blackbird's losing his feathers . . . it won't be long now.

Joanne Cucinello  2012

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