Legos

Sticky plastic pieces, smeared shiny with the innocence of residue's hands, lay scattered
In that sterile room of plastered eyes and smiling photographs.

                                            The smiles fade with hesitant footstumbles to find

A writhing clump of snakes:

Thumping and straining, they lay glistening upon a starched white membrane,
                                           Gasping through the trickling of time's long tears
Tinged with the tainted water of leaking hearts,
                                        They solemnly await the clicking of their crooked pieces apart

Afterwards:

The box of perplexing passageways flickers to a stop, tears drip dry, and time melts away.

Tschüss,

Marta Frieda Hart

Recollection

I remember

The peals of sweet laughter

 The playful gleaming of eyes locked in intellectual combat

When the steadfast doors towards pulsing vitality opened without a key 

 

I remember

The soft white ceramic canvas of your neck

The wisps I would tenderly brush off your cheek

When your bashful eyes flicked upwards as I held you near 

 

I remember

 The slapping of our wrists as the frenzy of licking every bowl and spoon consumed us

The intrigue of danger that left our lips curling in awe

When we gazed into the oven as if we were within the blazes waiting for the timer to tick

 

I remember

The timely hours where there was no such thing as longevity

The world ahead of us pounding upon the earth under our soles

When we were entrapped in imagination's impervious vice of life simply for life

 

I remember

How you keeled over in humorous delight as I fell with you

The stale smoke of bitter perfume rising from our chests

The time when there was a we and no me

 

I remember...             

You.









 Tschüss...              

Marta Frieda Hart





Oil and Water

Your skin is left on my pillows

All the while I am sniffing them

And pretending to be apathetic

Oxygen and nitrogen surrounding me

And they flow into my mouth as though

Being sucked through a cheap red straw

Here I dreamt I was free, yet again

Breathing air through my whole mouth

And kissing you with both lips

But I am eternally a glass half empty

There is no thing as a whole person

Like oil and water, we mix only when shaken

Best,

Anna Belle Lee