All That Wasn't

forever, together
you grace my hall

mother and daughter;
the ancient pain captured,
a reckless lens

her olive skin, charcoal skirt, wool beret,
dark as the black-shadowed porch,
play negative to the light of you;
a ruffled white cotton pinafore,
blond curls, pale skin,
bright patent shoes

your sad pose betrays,
arms, elbows, knees in tight;
her slender finger
grazes your shoulder,
an uncertain reflex
tenuous claim

chin down, her turned head
smiles shy with sorrow;
lips pinch, brows furrow,
your focus on a mystery, distant

beside you, a sidewalk beckons;
late fall trees expose an exit,
foreshadow hers, too early

this faded snapshot a
record of all you
do and do not know

It Has to be Enough

She wears scars visible;
her tattoed heart-on-sleeve
inaccessible, in spite of

she maintains
distance, physical
and otherwise;
the intimate us
breathes in text
transmitted by
an unseen,
ghostly wire

I throw myself at her
to pull her to a safer self;
like a life buoy, I do
more harm than intended

To meet seems dangerous;
I wait to for an invitation
and wonder who cornered whom

she talks a round of talk;
I navigate the untangling,
direct us, spiral down to
a black-muck rotten bottom
we somewhat share

her trust has its limits;
I stay when she asks
and leave when she doesn't

Heather Reed 2011