For a Stranger

at some point
cells decided
to divide;
a greedy,
molecular army

knives and hands
do battle against
what is unseen;
an invisible
invasive foe

Thursday came

he was happy
just to get out of -
his four walls
the new battle

it didn't matter
that no one knew
what to say

drugs numb
the skin, tender
around the incision

but are worthless
at helping him
maintain small talk,
make conversation

his mind walks
the line inside -
pacing with anger,
dread, fear, and
resolve at better
moments

again, intangible

I visualize the
small army
disintegrating

moving away,
pulling back,
dissolving

it's the least I can do

:hrr

No Title

I am trying to draw;

post cards and layers of scribbled
mess and paper cover the table -
there for inspiration as if
it were easy, as if its what I do
every day

four days I have thought and worked;
no closer to a decision than I was a week ago

poetry is nothing like this; it invades me -
a possessive lover sneaking up behind

words fall through the top of my head
like coffee drip-drip-dripping
into my morning pot

they hang heavy in the steam
of my morning shower,
taunting me

I capture them on the mirror,
half-wet and shivering,
only to lose them by the time
I’ve dressed

words are my art

traveling through me like
a brush or pencil put to paper

breaking through to my finger tips,
like tears, lightening bolts, or flowers

I wish I could draw them

Rapture

lips soft small smile

sweetly kiss fingers 

your mouth whispers 

here love 

any words are 

everything to set me 

smiling larger as I melt 

like smiles in eyes 

that see me as 

Botticelli may have 

your laugh as beauteous a sound 

as the prayer he made on wood 

Jade Tree Me

I am succulent
holding water
when skies refuse
a gift of sun, rain
anything certain
thick to the core,
self-sufficiently
rooted in what
I need
fleshy, whole,
lushly green
from within
I only need a little;
just a little...

Any Girl

she wears
the wild
discreetly

branded
on the inside;
no one knows
(so no one knows)

her shortest
walk is to
the edge

curiosity
ragged
like need

invisible,
persistent

the ink
still bleeds

Heather Reed 2006

Exposure

the eye that
is my mind
blinks;

a camera's
shutter I can't
control

unfiltered, captured
committed before
there's time to
turn away

internally,
I am part darkroom

processing, soaking
sifting in solution

with resolution
comes clarity,
without -
the pain of
wasted effort

beauty lost,
what I might
have learned
vanished, erased

still the absence of
remains;
committed to
my internal paper

Weight

he asked me once
how is it you can
carry all this -
this weight
upon your back

figuratively,
or as metaphor-
neither matters

what he sees
is smoke and mirrors,
I fool so many

my heart today gray
with restriction

grace and ease-
peace of mind
elusive as the wisp
of song on someone's
radio, blocks away

Spring's Cleaning

The varigated willows
bend beneath my hands;
they've missed me

Like children, leggy
and wayward, their
tender leaves curve
to my hands gently
setting limits

softening the earth,
my fingers
meet earthworms

enthusiastic and satiated;
necessary, welcome friends

without thought,
I become the quiet
of their days

my bones soften;
a curved smile
and cheek turn to sun

welcoming
and expectant
as my willows

Heather Reed

Sinking

right now everything in me is sinking in you your need like heavy water pulling me deeper to depths where even I can't swim; consider this when you cry for help at some point the lifeguard in me is helpless with words you could very easily drown me too won't you ever learn to swim Heather Reed 2005

Bitter Awareness

a woman bends
over her child
to place a kiss

on sweet, dark hair;
sweaty with work
and thinking

her lips taste
the salty link
to past and future
mothers and daughters

right now,
this is everything;
and all she can attend to

not knowing
how many tomorrows,
if any, remain, she has no time
for pleasant exchange;
conversation meaningless,
vague, and vapid

no words big enough
to explain the way she feels

impatient fear eats at her
like the poison within -
that arrived suddenly
like winter darkness,
in spite of taking care,
being thoughtful,
healthy and whole

hundreds of pink ribbons
strangle her, like tiny ropes
tightening about her heart

bitterly aware,
her mantra repeats,
endless and uncontrolled
cut it out, cut it off

Heather Reed 2005

Homeless 1979

Towels draped inner windows;
the beige four-door of indistinct model
straddled two spaces in the Sears lot
emptied and dirtied from another day's big spending

before urban legends, she was a rumor;
illegible as wavy cursive
penciled on wrinkled paper
smudged - neglected - discarded

12:30 am, coldly autumn;
the fable, reality up-close

through windows I tried to see her;
huddled, folded into corners
of a cluttered back seat

towels as walls, bench seat as sofa;
an aching stomach and layered coats
were meals remembered;
embraces imagined

tears gripped my throat;
icy rain tore at
her cracked windshield
of ragged journey

pierced and paralyzed,
I understood nothing;
just the hopeless sadness
of seeing her,
homeless and hungry

Hutchinson, Kansas 1979

February Morning

it's still February,
the darkest of months

dreary mornings,
autopilot days
stuck in rewind

clouds race above
to some other place,
better than this;
intent on not taking us

walls inside
the color of
skies outside,
bleak and gray

I suffocate in rooms
with air thick
like heavy blankets
wrapped and twisted,
I am too warm,
hopeless and stagnant

suddenly this morning
a bird sang-

reminding me
it's almost March

the sky, and me,
are happier for it


Heather Reed 2005

Eight or Eighty

at eight he trusted
everything about her

sheets slapped
happily cool,
taunting the heat,
heavy like cheeks
reddened with fever

lavender soap
melted, dripping
like petals onto
a vegetable garden
of beans and beets
tossed against the
porcelain, vibrant
like a summer salad

he held his breath,
toes splayed like
tubers spreading
across the bottom
of the pond

rooted there,
he felt safest

her hair gossamer
above him, eyes
a prairie’s bluest sky,
calmly watching over

at eighty,
he saw the yellowed
grasses wave

and willed her return
like a child begging
the rain to stop

an orphan adrift;
longing for home -

finally she came -
hands in her apron
reaching for a cinnamon;
he folded into her

behind his eyes
the bubbles rise,
escaping to the surface

again beneath
the fondest smile

heather r. reed 011006

Exposure

the eye that
is my mind
blinks;

a camera's
shutter I can't
control

unfiltered, captured
committed before
there's time to
turn away

internally,
I am part darkroom

processing, soaking
sifting in solution

with resolution
comes clarity,
without -
the pain of
wasted effort

beauty lost,
what I might
have learned
vanished, erased

still the absence of
remains;
committed to
my internal paper