Torch Songs

Please understand . . .
when I heard that song on the radio
and you saw me get so dark and quiet
it wasn't you . . . it was the music.
I know it's beautiful,
and I know you love it, but
I begin to drown inside
with every chord.

It moves right in and takes me over
like the cold dark ocean
rolling onto shore.
I change . . .
my heart begins to pound
and my fingers freeze.
I feel like a little girl locked in time.

The music of my mother
the love songs, torch songs
the dark nights and muffled sounds
echoes of a broken heart
crumpled in the corner of a room.

It just begins to happen when I hear
the notes curl downward
like that melody she sang
that never ended . . .
that image of my Mother
in her long black nightgown
lying cold on the floor
while the record kept turning
round and round
the needle skipping
in the same scratched spot
~ till they found her.

Joanne Cucinello 2010

The City of Angels

In the City of Angels
there are no homes
nor clocks
to tell of time.
In the City of Angels
no one speaks
in words familiar.

There is a lake
in its center
filled with tears
rescued
from the hearts
of those who lost
their young.

This lake of tears
overflows at times
when many
suffer loss together
then tears
pour forth
to feed the trees
with crystals

Images of life on earth
hang draping
homage on the trees
some like flowers
some like vines
and even some
like thorns.

There are three moons
floating always
in a mist of
faintest melody
catching echoes
from the earth
and songs ~
of mothers.

The Beings
winged and fair
who light upon the
treetops
bring the souls
of little ones
and hold them close
beneath
their wings
until the tears subside
and broken hearts
can let them go.

For only then
will heaven part
as angels guide them
through the light
to all who went before
awaiting them
with open arms
and tears no more.



Joanne Cucinello 2007