Open Still

Lover on
my mind,

like a soft rain,
like a mist,

the one that settles
over me now.

Cool night
and the open

window, candle
on the sill.

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Marcellina

The first time you saw her,
you had to lay down
your body beside
Marcellina.

She holds you inside
her dark folds and white blankets,
the mountain, she stands,
Marcellina.

And under the midnight
woven with stars,
a truck sleeps beneath
Marcellina.

It rains until morning
as mist wraps its legs
around a lake lost,
Marcellina.

And in the soft sunrise
before the first frost,
a canopy gold,
Marcellina.

And just when you tell her
your heart will not go,
she tells you the same,
Marcellina.

“Both Sides”

My friend manages
a restaurant,
one block

from where
Heather Heyer
was mowed down

by white hatred.
Men with semi automatics
march and chant,

wave their flags & Nazi
bats, confederates,
in riot gear

purchased online
from purveyors
of the finest

tactical garments.
She locks the door,
tells employees

to get in the back. Afraid
for their lives,
they emerge

in time to see
the panic,
a vehicle.  She knows

the woman killed
on Saturday,
both in their thirties,

elbows on a bar
in Charlottesville,
and now only one left

to tell the story
over a cigarette,
miles from home,

which is where
she finally has the oxygen
to tell me.

There is no question
about who brought
the terror down.

They feared for their lives,
they locked the door,
and no gray area now…

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