Chiara
my fire in the summer night
my collected cherries from trees-
cherry blossoms in my backyard,
sweet tulips by the front.
Chia-ra
my singer.
tickling whisperer when I sleep,
fast adrift.
Chiara... Ciara,
gum tinted lips, plum...
my sin. Chia...ra.
a burning in my chest-
a. hatched.
breath.
Mae. Chiara Mae. I do, not her. I fret.
Not enough yet... head to toes
upset.
Please let me count to ten,
there's a story I should tell.
One. A five year old wiggling his toes.
Two. Stares at a butterfly, daddy went for a walk.
Three. Hums the bumble bee song, the birds are eerily asleep.
Four. Swinging on the hammock, the ground can't touch his feet.
Five. His eyelids are closing, rests his cheek on the string.
Six. Pale rays hide away, he sucks his little finger, calls his daddy once
and again.
Seven. The park is turning dark, somewhere away a dog barks.
Eight. Kid's got a runny nose, his eyes and cheeks are already moist.
Nine. Daddy doesn't come around, the little child cries on his shirt until
dawn.
Ten. Love is a fallacy, a feeling he thought he would never ever own.
Chiara
the song goes:
"I'm bringing home a baby bumble bee"
Chiara... Mae
"Ouch! it stung me!"
Love is a fallacy- for a moment I
had thought
you would have proved me wrong.
YOU ARE READING
I named her Africa #Wattys2015
PoetryI didn't mind if my fingertips were rusted with coffee grounds, or if my palm still hosted bread crumbs, I reached out my hand across the table, and you squeezed it but proved me wrong. My mind was spiraling, my heart, unstable. ____________________...
