My eyes penetrate the room's burnt-leaf haze,
Locked onto the gaze of the man of the hour,
Make that urgent, universally grasped request,
His brisk nod received with my weary sigh.
Empty glass, drips cascading down broad belly,
Straight from the steamy cycle, wiped clean of
All traces of its last companion's painted lips,
To be filled again, touched again, held again.
My arm bisects the narrow, quivering ravine
Between garbardine, padded shoulders and
Sweaty hairlines and the dull glint of brass
Buttons, to stake my claim, a place of repose.
Glass cradling smoky bronze fire hits the bar
With a resonant thud that sends a message:
I mean to create my own space and know
Exactly how to fill it with no help from you.
When did I become so self-reliant? So sure?
Like others, I was once delicate, once in need
Of a strong hand to carve out a path for me,
To offer me refreshment, to guard my way.
Can one tumble backward, and yet expect
To be caught by a web of interlocked arms?
Is there ever truly such a thing as protection?
Devotion? True, as promised, delivered?
At some point, cynicism sets like concrete.
The buoyant smile ossifies, a gritted line.
Passion sealed within, not evaporated, yet
Encased inside a near-impenetrable wall.
My body slips between the crevasse of hot,
Flannel-wrapped flanks and breathy banter,
Dodges questioning glances, elbow points,
And hands, ever gesturing, ever seeking.
Can the concrete barrier be breached?
Its cold mortar blocks are loosened by
Drips of bronze, fiery liquid, and cracks
Emerge, allowing air and light within.
There, in illuminated, refreshed spaces,
Long-dormant seeds may germinate,
Give rise, ripening vines, petals unfurled.
In the narrow, dimly lit space is hope.
Locked onto the gaze of the man of the hour,
Make that urgent, universally grasped request,
His brisk nod received with my weary sigh.
Empty glass, drips cascading down broad belly,
Straight from the steamy cycle, wiped clean of
All traces of its last companion's painted lips,
To be filled again, touched again, held again.
My arm bisects the narrow, quivering ravine
Between garbardine, padded shoulders and
Sweaty hairlines and the dull glint of brass
Buttons, to stake my claim, a place of repose.
Glass cradling smoky bronze fire hits the bar
With a resonant thud that sends a message:
I mean to create my own space and know
Exactly how to fill it with no help from you.
When did I become so self-reliant? So sure?
Like others, I was once delicate, once in need
Of a strong hand to carve out a path for me,
To offer me refreshment, to guard my way.
Can one tumble backward, and yet expect
To be caught by a web of interlocked arms?
Is there ever truly such a thing as protection?
Devotion? True, as promised, delivered?
At some point, cynicism sets like concrete.
The buoyant smile ossifies, a gritted line.
Passion sealed within, not evaporated, yet
Encased inside a near-impenetrable wall.
My body slips between the crevasse of hot,
Flannel-wrapped flanks and breathy banter,
Dodges questioning glances, elbow points,
And hands, ever gesturing, ever seeking.
Can the concrete barrier be breached?
Its cold mortar blocks are loosened by
Drips of bronze, fiery liquid, and cracks
Emerge, allowing air and light within.
There, in illuminated, refreshed spaces,
Long-dormant seeds may germinate,
Give rise, ripening vines, petals unfurled.
In the narrow, dimly lit space is hope.
